


A kiss a day; the many kinds of love.

by RussianSunflower3



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: 30 Kisses Challenge, Although it's 29 because it's february, Check chapter titles for characters and/or pairings, February Challenge, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i give up on tagging, soft and sappy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 43,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22504894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianSunflower3/pseuds/RussianSunflower3
Summary: There are a lot of different types of love.Between lovers, between friends, between family...As such, there's a lot of different ways to show love, but kisses are ultimately the most well-known.(29 kisses for 29 days.)
Relationships: Bluestreak & Prowl & Smokescreen, Bluestreak/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Bumblebee & Optimus Prime, Bumblebee & Spike Witwicky, Carly Witwicky/Spike Witwicky, Grapple/Hoist, Jazz/Prowl, Megatron/Starscream, Megatron/Thundercracker (Transformers), Mirage & Hound, Ratchet/Wheeljack, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker, Skyfire/Starscream, Skywarp/Thundercracker, Soundwave & Cassettes, Soundwave/Thundercracker, Sunstreaker & Sideswipe & Bluestreak, Windcharger & Brawn
Comments: 25
Kudos: 206





	1. A peck on the lips ROMANTIC JazzXProwl.

The plan was risky. 

No matter how Prowl looked it over, recalculated the odds, or tried to rework the entire plan, the end result was the same.

A 33.92% chance of success. 

Liplates pulled taunt in a disproving line, he went back to the top of the datapad to try again. True, he had already presented this plan to Optimus, and it had been approved, but Prowl was determined to try and increase their odds in any way possible. He had until tomorrow morning when the plan went live.

Sighing, he pinches his nasal ridge, well aware the only light in the room is a soft glow of blue from a particular someone’s visor.

“Jazz. I’m busy.” Sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging his legs casually and grinning down at Prowl, Jazz only leans back a little with a flare of mischief in his field.

“Ah think you’re just _makin’_ yaself busy, Prowler~.” A frown tugs at Prowl’s lipplates again, reading the same line multiple lines because it’s just not registering in his processor and-

“ _Jazz_.” The saboteur holds the datapad aloft, high out of Prowl’s reach, having swiftly leapt to his pedes on the desk. His other servo is on his hip, a gesture that shows he’s not finding it as amusing as he was a moment ago.

“C’mon, sweetspark. I can tell ya circuits are gonna start overheating any time now. Ya gotta take a break.” Prowl narrows his optics at Jazz, debating between yanking him off the desk and stealing the datapad back, or letting him get away with this.

“... I need to-”

“Nope!”

“Jazz, I have to-”

“You hafta rest. Ya already made th’ plan, it’s going ahead, an’ ah’m confiscating this so you can recharge.”

“ _Jazz!_ ” It’s rare that Prowl raises his voice. It’s rarer still that he slams his servos on his desk. For him to do both at the same time, doorwings flickering back and forth in irritation, suggest that he’s not reacting well to his datapad being confiscated.

But then, Jazz knows it’s more than that.

It’s _always_ more than that.

“Talk to me, Prowl.” He subspaces the datapad, leaping off the desk with catlike grace to gently step into Prowl’s personal space, one servo resting reassuringly on his upper arm. Prowl glances at it. He tries to say something. Stops. And sighs, doorwings wilting as he turns his gaze to the ground.

“It’s the mission. I don’t- I mean- It’s not…” He vents again, heavier this time, lifting his helm to look Jazz optic to visor, showing the vulnerability and insecurities to his sparkmate with no hesitation.

“I constructed the plan. I presented it to Optimus, convinced it was the best it could be. But now it has been approved and the time draws closer…”

“Doubting yaself?”

“Doubting the _odds_. Jazz, 33.92% is… It’s…”

“It’s more than a third, sweetspark~.” The servo that isn’t on Prowl’s upper arm reaches up to caress his cheek lovingly, Jazz’s smile soft as he brushes his thumb digit over Prowl’s cheekplate rhythmically.

Prowl gives him a small, almost sad smile.

“Barely. That’s a 66.08% chance of _failure_.”

“Ah’ve gone into missions with lower odds than that, an’ I’m still here, ain’t I?” Prowl rolls his optics, moving his own servos to rest on Jazz’s hips, once more dropping his helm.

“Yes, but we both know you’re absolutely insane, go off the book, and somehow survive impossible situations. What’s different this time is that it’s not a solo mission. You won’t be able to _do that_. Other mechs will be relying on you to do your part perfectly.”

“Jus’ as I’ll be relyin’ on them. That’s ma team, Prowl. We’re Spec Ops! It’s what we do!” There’s a pause where Jazz nudges Prowl’s chin up to look at him again.

“An’ hey, you know they’re jus’ as crazy as me~. Whatever I do, my team will keep up.” Quirking an optic ridge, Prowl can’t stop the corner of his lipplates twitching upwards.

“Yes, I do recall that one time your team simultaneously blew out all the doors in a Decepticon warship and Bumblebee _launched himself via Bluestreak’s rocket launcher_ directly into the _**deadliest**_ target on board~.”

“Hey! Little bit’s got guts! And hella good instincts. Never seen a mech disable someone’s motor relay system whilst fallin’ to the floor before…” Prowl shakes his helm affectionately.

“You’re a bad influence, Jazz.”

“You love it~.”

“Sometimes, my beloved, I do wonder why.” Jazz laughs quietly, sliding his arms down to wrap around Prowl’s waist and draw him in for a hug, resting his helm against Prowl’s shoulder. Almost immediately, Prowl senses him sobering and becoming serious.

“What’re our odds of not making back?” Shuttering off his optics, Prowl mentally detaches for a short moment to deliver the calculations. It makes it easier to say them.

“Within the 66.08% of failure, there is a 53.7% chance one of you will cease to function.”

“Designations and odds of offlining?”

“Mirage, 41%. Bumblebee, 39.84%. Yourself, 22.05%. Hound and Bluestreak, 12.39%. There is an 11% chance more than one will be lost, and a 6% chance you will all deactivate should the mission fail.”

“... Well, Ah’m liking those odds!” Prowl shutters his optics rapidly as he reengages his emotional center, looking down at a grinning Jazz like the saboteur is _crazy_.

He reminds himself that Jazz’s record probably proves his suspicion.

“... You’re going to do something neither of us expects, aren’t you?” 

“Eh, prob’bly.” Shrugging innocently, Jazz takes a step back. He softens his vocaliser.

“I can stay here tonight, if you’re that worried…?” It takes a moment for Prowl to decide, thinking with both his spark and his processor. He calmly smiles as he comes to an answer.

“No. I won’t disrupt your Spec Ops tradition~.”

“Ya sure? Pretty sure the guys can have a sleepover without me.”

“I’m sure, Jazz. The… ‘Sleepover’ allows your systems to sync up in preparation for the mission, and the close company of your team - your _best friends_ \- assists in recalibration of circuit stressors.” With what can only be described as a purr, Jazz pulls Prowl in for a tight hug.

“Thanks, Prowler~. Yer th’ best.” 

“I only wish the plan had better odds.”

“Hey, hey hey… More th’n a third is better odds than most of our battles! An’ I know you wouldn’t have presented it to Prime if ya didn’t fully believe it would work.” Jazz pulls back again, visor a softer, gentler shade of blue as he meets Prowl’s optics.

“I trust ya, with all my spark.” His arms recede from the hug, and Prowl drops his own hold too. As Jazz starts to step away though, leaving Prowl’s quarters to head for the common room Spec Ops sleepover, Prowl grabs his wrist and tugs him back.

He steals a peck on the lips.

Nothing lingering. Nothing passionate. Just sweet and loving in the way Prowl always is when they’re alone.

“Come back to me, okay?” Happily dazed by the affection, Jazz nods. Amusement flickers in Prowl’s field. 

“Don’t mess up my plan _too_ much~. I put my spark into that, just for you.” Holding his hands up in mock surrender, grin creeping back on his face, Jazz waggles his optic ridges.

“I make _no_ promises Ah can’t keep~.” Laughing, Prowl steps towards him, raising a finger as if he’s about to start lecturing him.

“You behave yourself, sweetspark!” Jazz turns on heel and flees out the room, screeching as he goes;

“No promiseeeeeessss!!!” The door slides closed and Prowl chuckles warmly in the silence of his room, feeling a lot more content than he previously had. He ex-vents slowly, softly with loving affection, touching his lips gingerly.

Kissing Jazz never failed to make him feel like he was falling in love for the first time all over again.

Wondering just how spectacularly Jazz was going to frag up the plan _this_ time, Prowl settles into recharge, knowing full well that the Spec Ops team will be causing mayhem in the common room before they pass out in a big cuddle puddle, ready to leave early for the mission tomorrow.

They’ll all come home. Prowl knows Jazz will make sure of it.

When the team returns that evening, Jazz proudly holds his disconnected arm in his other servo, Bumblebee leans heavily against Mirage to limp home, Hound is a wonderful shade of neon orange, and Bluestreak has an all too innocent expression. All 5 have the cheekiest, widest grins.

Greeting them at the Ark entrance, Prowl is just as shocked as Optimus Prime and Rachet. The latter of which is bound to explode in a rage when he gets over his shock. Pinching at his nasal ridge, Prowl comes to one conclusion.

“You spectacularly fragged up the plan, didn’t you?”

“Oh, we _hella_ fragged up your plan~.” Jazz pushes his chest out in pride, and Bluestreak snickers from the back. With a guiltless smile, Bumblebee raises his servo.

“My bad, this time.” Mirage chuckles, steadying the young mech before he falls over on his absolutely shredded leg.

“If you hadn’t had those grenades on hand though, I think Ravage would have found me~.”

“Oh, I _greatly_ enjoyed chasing her through the Nemesis with explosions everywhere~.” Bluestreak’s snickering breaks into a full-on laugh, and Hound pats his back when he starts to cough. The now-orange mech apologetically shrugs.

“Well, put it this way. Half the cons won’t be fighting fit for _days_ , ‘Bee traumatised most of them, Blue got the rest, their weapon storage room is destroyed, and their base is more orange than ours!” The sheer _glee_ rolling off the Spec Ops team is enough to make Optimus bury his faceplates in one servo.

“Just… Just _once_ , can you not come back in one peice? _Just **once???**_ ” Jazz swings his disconnected arm over the shoulder of the arm holding it.

“Nope! Sorry Prime, but mah team jus’ ain’t good at following instructions~.” Jazz dares to give Prowl a cheeky grin, tilting his head to the side as if acting cute will spare him Prowl’s annoyance. Prowl narrows his optics thinner and taps his pede on the floor to make it clear that Jazz will _not_ be getting off scot-free this time.

“Well, judging from the state of you, I’d suggest we leave the debrief until _after_ the med-bay.” Never before have 5 mechs made the exact same expression so quickly, fear flooding them as Prowl’s suggestion is followed by Ratchet cracking his knuckles.

“Yes… Come along to my med-bay, _hooligans_.” Bumblebee tries to shrink behind Mirage - which would work much better if the battered mech wasn’t supporting him - and Bluestreak audibly whimpers. Ratchet points at Bluestreak and Hound.

“You, and you. Excused. The wash racks will do you fine. The _**rest**_ of you…!!!” Optimus, mirth in his optics, flattens his hand out to gesture the Spec Ops team inside.

“I look forwards to our debrief once Ratchet is finished with you~.” Jazz gulps. As the condemned mech slowly trudge/limp in behind Optimus, Ratchet watching them with narrowed optics and a sharp scowl, Prowl slides into step next to Jazz.

“I knew you’d bring them back.”

“Yeah… Sorry ‘bout your plan though. It was working perfectly ‘til Sounders let Ravage out for some reason.” In a rare burst of public affection, Prowl brushes their shoulders together with their fields.

“I don’t mind. Coming back alive was more important than following my plan completely.” He pauses for good measure.

“Though I’d prefer if your arm was still attached.” Jazz snickers, silencing himself ‘innocently’ as Ratchet holds up a threatening wrench. A bright blue visor turns to meet Prowl’s optics, and Prowl can’t help himself finding that proud smile cute.

Just like the night before, he steals another quick peck on the lips. 

“Thank you, for coming home.”


	2. Cheek kiss, PLATONIC. Bee & Spike.

“Hey, ‘Bee! What’s buzzing?”

“Oh, haha, Spike. _Very_ funny~.” Spike laughs as he approaches his best friend, hopping into the seat next to him in the common room. It’s eerily quiet, for once, most of the Autobots out at a big battle.

As per usual, though, Bumblebee had been put ‘in charge’ of the Ark whilst the others were gone. He was old enough now to know that they just didn’t want him lunging at Megatron like he could actually stop the warlord. _Again_.

“What’s ‘buzzing’ is that I’m pretty much, uh… What was the human word? Grounded???” Spike laughs, hands over his belly, before he realises Bumblebee is looking in the opposite direction, guiltily sipping at his energon cube. Spike’s expression goes flat.

“... ‘Bee, what did you _do_?”

“N’thing.” The murmur, Bumblebee now chewing the edge of the cube to prolong how long he can delay an answer, is the equivalent of being caught red-handed.

“Seriously, ‘Bee. I’m curious. Optimus doesn’t ground mechs for just anything! I mean, look what Sideswipe gets away with!” Snorting a little laugh, Bumblebee turns back to face his friend, sheepishly.

“I may have challenged the Dinobots to parkour… Inside the Ark… From their cave to the lava pools to outside. And, uh… I may have… Umm… Provoked them into a fight when I lost?” He grins, shrugging even though his field is absolutely beaming. Not that Spike needs to be able to read a field to tell.

He bursts out laughing, smacking Bumblebee’s shoulder as he throws his head back.

“You did _what_?! Oh my god, ‘Bee! I thought you’d learnt from _**last time**_ they pancaked you!”

“Hey, now! That was obstacle racing! I was prepared to lose that one! This was parkour, _parkour_! My job!! It’s totally different!” Calming down from his laughing fit, Spike claps Bumblebee’s cheeks with both hands and stares him directly in the optics.

“Bumblebee. You are my best friend and I _adore_ you, but god, you can be so stupid sometimes~.”

“I did warn Ratchet I was gonna do it this time. I mean, he probably told me not to, but I literally shouted it as I left the med-bay and ran before he could respond. Is that technically disobeying?”

“Yes!!!” 

“Aww, scrap.” Shaking his best friend’s helm affectionately before removing his hands, Spike sighs.

“How are you not reformatted into a toaster yet?”

“Honestly, I think Ratchet’s already drawn up the schemes and is just waiting for Prime to give him permission.”

“Keep going like this and Optimus _will_ give him permission.”

“Precisely why I’ve turned one of the rooms only accessible by air vents into a survival bunker.”

“They’ll send Cliffjumper in to get you~.”

“Pssh, I can knock Cliffjumper out .”

“ _’Bee!!!_ ”

“What? Y’think the minibots _aren’t_ sparring every Sunday? It’s how we keep - as Hound would say - fighting fit!” Spike rolls his eyes, nudging Bumblebee’s side with his elbow.

“They’ll send _Brawn_ in after you.”

“I’ll cash in on a favour from Windcharger~.” Crumpling up his empty cube, Bumblebee launches it across the room towards the recycling chute. It misses by a hair’s breadth and bounces to the floor instead. Whispering a soft ‘pit darn!’, Bumblebee gets up to retrieve it, Spike shuffling off to the side and lingering near the table.

“What if they send Brawn after you twice?” Retracing his steps backwards with the crumpled cube in hand, Bumblebee takes aim from the same distance as before. This time, it goes in and Spike high-fives him, watching the grin grow on Bumblebee’s faceplates.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea how many favours Windcharger owes me.” Spike wisely decides not to ask the how’s or why’s. The duo start walking out of the common room, heading back towards Teletran where Bumblebee _should_ have been when Spike first arrived.

Sometimes a mech - especially a grounded youngling - just needs a little break.

“Then after Brawn they’ll send… Uh… Windcharger himself, I guess?”

“He won’t do anything. 'Specially if I cry. Jazz taught me how to cry on command!”

“Gears?”

“I’ll let him complain for a bit and then he’ll forget why he was sent in.”

“Hmm… Powerglide and Seaspray are too big to git in the vents… Warpath too, for that matter. What about Huffer?”

“Also too big. The vent I chose is slightly crushed, so his scoop won’t fit through. Before you even suggest Cosmos, he’s still in space.” Spike humms in contemplation as they settle into the sofa that’s become a permanent feature of the communication hub.

Probably because Teletran has the best screen to watch ‘As the Kitchen Sinks’ on.

“... Beachcomber?” Bumblebee laughs at that one. Not in a mean way, but just because the idea is ridiculous. Spike joins him as he tries to imagine a hoard of mechs trying to shove Beachcomber into a dusty, enclosed vent to confront a fellow minicon. It just _wouldn’t_ happen.

“Spike, if they can even _find_ Beachcomber once he catches wind of what’s going on, I’ll put _myself_ in the brig!” Laughing again, the two scroll through a selection of entertainment Teletran offers, ending up with some kind of kids cartoon that Spike remembers from when he was a child.

He doesn’t mind putting up with it for ‘Bee though. He knows - from a secret talk with Optimus Prime - that ‘Bee is much younger than the war forces him to come across. He’s just a _kid_. Probably a little younger than Spike, in human terms.

“Hey, ‘Bee?”

“Yeah?”

“You said you warned Ratchet when you ‘left the med-bay’. What were you in there for?”

“... Purposely stepped into one of Sideswipe’s pranks.”

“Bee!!!”

“I know, I know! It was dumb, ‘cus he always takes the target’s size and strength into consideration, but! He set it up for Ironhide, but ‘Hide was in a rotten mood, so I kinda… Felt like I _had_ to intervene.” The way Bumblebee curls in on himself makes Spike feel like his heart is sinking into his stomach. His best friend was _hurt_ , and he did it to himself to help someone else.

“You didn’t have to do that. The worst Ironhide would’ve done would be to put ‘Sides in the brig for a little bit.”

“... But then ‘Hide woulda still be upset… At least when it was _me_ , it got a laugh out of everyone.”

“Even when they realised you got hurt?” The awkward silence that follows gives Spike the answer he needs. He sighs, flopping his full weight against Bumblebee’s side comfortingly.

“You don’t have to always get hurt, y’know?”

“It’s not _always_ , it’s just-”

“It is, ‘Bee! You’re always getting hurt, not just by taking other mech’s pranks, or playing with the Dinobots, but by recklessly charging into battle too! Not even _Optimus Prime_ can stop Megatron, but you’re always finding a way to tackle him on the field. It’s _dangerous_!!! Do you know how scared I get that one day, my best friend won’t come back?!”

“I…” Bumblebee goes quiet. He brings his knees up to his chassis, holding them tightly to himself and buries his faceplates in his knees. His spark _burns_ , because he knows. He _knows_. 

He’s very much aware how much it worries everyone when he’s injured. How scared they are when he does something crazy enough to convince them he’s either brave or stupid. He _knows_ he might not come back one day.

“Oh, ‘Bee… ‘Bee, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that.” Spike’s hand is warm as it presses against Bumblebee’s arm, feeling the plating underneath hitch. ‘Bee presses into it, craving the comfort.

“No, it’s… You’re right, Spike. I _am_ always putting myself in danger. But that’s only because I have to! When it’s ‘Sides pranks, it’s because whoever he’s targeting isn’t in the mood for it, but it’s _funny_ to see someone else get pranked.” He takes a deep, shuddering vent.

“When it’s playing with the Dinobots, or any kind of game that generally ends in being ‘pancaked’, it’s because it’s lively and fun. It cheers everyone up when morale is low, and I like not having to care about the war for moment, just… Just playin’ and having a good time.” His optics dim as he turns to look at Spike, a haunted expression on his faceplates.

“I do things I shouldn’t in battle, because I’ve had _enough_. Standing back at a safe distance, or just distracting the cassettes, it isn’t going to _do_ much. I have to get in there, to feel like I’m making a difference. I have to fight, because I want this war to be over.”

“Everyone does, ‘Bee…”

“I know! I know, but I have to help! I have to do something because it’s not _enough_!”

“It’s okay to want everyone to be happy, but you don’t have to take the weight of the entire war on your shoulders! _That’s **not** your responsibility_!!!” Bumblebee shutters his optics, physically jolting backwards at the revelation. He’s silent for a moment, optics brightening and mouth hanging open as he _tries_ to respond with words. 

In the end, he settles for yanking Spike into a tight, almost desperate hug. Spike doesn’t comment on the liquid he can feel seeping into his shirt shoulder, just wraps his arms around his best friend and squeezes back.

“Thank you, Spike. I- I think I needed to hear that.” Twisting around in Bumblebee’s tight hug, Spike gently presses a kiss to a cold, wet cheek. He turns back around and relaxes into the hug, giving Bumblebee the comfort he so dearly needs.

“You’re welcome, ‘Bee~.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Bee is sweet, innocent, and baby.  
> Also me: HE'S FRIGGING SPEC OPS.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D   
> Just 27 to go~!


	3. Playful Cheek Kiss, FAMILIAL. Sunny & Sides.

Whenever the Ark was quiet, it was a mild blessing. It meant there were no Decepticon attacks happening, no war meetings going on in Optimus’s office, and - _most importantly_ \- Sideswipe was in the brig.

Whilst someone being punished wasn’t generally a good thing, when that mech was a serial pranker, their imprisonment meant everyone else could relax, just for a moment. Everyone, that is, except for Sunstreaker.

Scowling, the golden warrior sent a burst of irritation across the split-spark bond. Sideswipe has somehow disabled the block that filtered out audio messages, so Sunstreaker had been subject to _3 hours_ of Sideswipe’s stupidest thoughts.

Examples included, but not limited to; The pondering on how many knees an insection had, if his weight would change upon devouring one of his own limbs, if he could tempt a herd of angry pygmy elephants onto the Nemesis, and how to make the heating vents eject toast on a verbal trigger.

Often, Sunstreaker wondered how they were even related, much less twins.

“Your brother still bothering you, Sunstreaker?” Glancing up to see Hound casually approaching, Sunstreaker’s grip on his now-slightly-dented cube loosens and he ungrits his denta.

“If I had a shanix for every time he bothered me, _I’d have one_. Because he never stops!” Giving a good natured laugh, Hound pats Sunstreaker’s shoulder in a show of support.

“I’m sure he’ll run out of thoughts in a couple of years~.” 

“Thanks, Hound.” The corners of his lips twitching up into a smile, Sunstreaker clinks his partly-drunk cube against Hound’s full one, before Hound goes over to the usual Spec Ops table. Sunstreaker’s moment of content does not last long.

_:://SUNNY SUNNY SUNSHINE\\\::_ Instantly scowling once more, Sunstreaker tries his best to ignore his twin. That’s not easy when Sideswipe is practically barraging him though the split-spark bond, with audio comms, text-based notifications, and an entire tsunami of general emotions.

_:://What.\\\::_ The harsh snap does nothing to ease Sideswipe’s excitement. If anything, the burst of sheer joy in his spark only radiates larger.

_:://GUESS WHO FIGURED OUT HOW TO TURN OFF THE ENERGON BARS??? No prizes for guessing! I’m a genius!\\\::_

_:://What? You figured it out?\\\::_ Genuinely impressed, Sunstreaker is also intrigued. The twins have been trying to find an new way to annoy Prowl for eons, and breaking out of the brig seemed to be the best way.

Prowl was, of course, aware of their intentions but confident they wouldn’t be able to do so.

_:://Frag yeah, I did! It was so easy, I just-... Oh no. Oh scrap-\\\::_ The communication cuts off abruptly, with Sunstreaker’s spark screaming an echo of his twin’s terror. An image crosses his processor of Sideswipe dodging and cowering from the bars of the brig going absolutely **berserk**.

The strong energon beams burn gouges into the walls, floors and ceilings. Droplets of energon prove Sideswipe has been struck somewhere too, a victim to his own mischief.

“... That pit-spawned son of Unicron…” Ignoring the explosion of energon as he crushes the cube in his furious grip - accidentally, for once - Sunstreaker pushes himself up from his seat and marches over to the officers table.

Much to his credit, Prowl doesn’t even sigh when the frontliner storms up to them.

“He’s broken out of the brig, hasn’t he?”

“He’s broken the brig.” Prowl raises an optical ridge, whilst the other officers present - Ironhide, Jazz, and Ratchet - all share a glance of confusion. It’s Ironhide that speaks up first.

“Don’tcha mean he’s broken _out_ of the brig?” Sunstreaker full on snarls.

“No. The miss-clocked idiot has _broken the brig_!” Prowl’s optics flash white and his processors fritz, indicating he’s about to crash, but a sharp swat around the helm from Ratchet stops him thinking about the bizarre implications of Sunstreaker’s words.

How in the pit does one break a whole brig?

“Right… I suppose I’d better salvage the situation.” Sunstreaker snorts, rolling his optics.

“Good luck with that.” With what can only be described as a sigh, Ratchet stands to follow.

“Considering it’s Sideswipe, you’ll probably need a medic on hand.” 

“How many wrenches have you got, Doc-bot?” The grumbled question from an incensed twin is enough to make Ratchet start scowling too.

“If you’re suggesting I need to launch a few at him, not enough.” The short exchange is enough for Prowl to deduce that whatever Sideswipe has done, it’s _going_ to make him crash.

He’s entirely right. Prowl doesn’t even make it through the _door_ before his processor malfunctions and he locks up, collapsing into Ratchet’s expectant arms. The CMO pulls a face.

“Well, that went splendidly.” Sunstreaker, leaving Ratchet to set Prowl asides outside the brig, dares to peak in.

Energon beams dart about the room from where they’re being produced where the bars _should_ be. A pity that most of Sideswipe’s schemes end in accidental destruction and not… Working.

“Sunny?! Sunny, is that you? Please help, I’m in a whole load of scrap!” 

“Yes, yes you are.”

“Sunny, please!” Scanning the room, Sunstreaker spots a small trail of energon leading to an upturned desk that’s gradually being worn away each time an energon beam passes over it, carving deeper each time and leaving a trail of burnt gouges in the metal. Sideswipe uses it a sheild, but it won’t last much longer.

“You’d better appreciate this, you scrapheap.” In his typical fashion, Sunstreaker casts caution to the wind and charges into the room, battle-ready, darting directly over to the control panel for the brig’s security bars. 

He could be sensible and enter Prowl’s authorisation code, (because yes, they know it), but Sunstreaker is _angry_.

He’s had to endure 3 hours of Sideswipe’s incessant, annoying pestering.  
That’s enough to wear down even Optimus Prime’s patience.

Slamming his fist in the controls, they spark and burst into a small flame, whilst the energon beams in the background flicker out. Just in time too, as a tiny hole is carved out of the table Sideswipe holds. 

The small flame brings the sprinkler system to life, droplets falling from the few functional sprinklers that the energon beams haven’t destroyed, causing steam to roll off the intensely hot gouges in the metal.

“S- Sunny…” Sideswipe seems to sense the comical bloodlust through the split-spark bond - a common and daily occurrence that results from being related - and cowers behind the table.

True, he could hold his own against his twin, but he knows he’s provoked Sunstreaker too much. 

Silence. Sunstreaker pulls his fist out of the control panel ominously slow. His helm hangs low enough that his optics are overshadowed. He walks over to Sideswipe, every step heavy and threatening. Sideswipe forces a nervous laugh, not fearing for his life, but concerned for his safety.

“Can- Can we talk about this? Sunny? Sunshine? … Sunflower?” The table is swept asides and a fist slams around Sideswipe’s neck, pinning him to the wall behind. 

“You forced me. To endure. _Seven different versions_ Of 99 energon cubes on the wall!” Sideswipe’s optics tint a blue that is almost white, an extremely nervous and high-pitched giggle escaping his vocaliser.

“You’re welcome?” 

“ _I’m going to **eviscerate** you_.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“But I’m going to let Ratchet have you first.” Sideswipe shutter his optics. Fear flickers in his field, though it’s mixed with amusement.

“I know exactly what that means.” There’s a repetitive clanking sound behind Sunstreaker, a noise that all troublemakers on the Ark know. It’s Ratchet’s _favourite_ wrench, tapping against his servo threateningly.

“Oh, yes. You! You pit-spawned, miss-clocked, _demon_ of a mechling! You’ve destroyed the brig, made Prowl crash, and injured yourself through your stupidity _again_!” Sunstreaker releases his grip, knowing full well that Sideswipe is going to get a verbal rundown equal to at least 3 aft-beatings.

“Stupidity? I managed to deactivate the energon bars from _inside_ the cell! That’s genius!” The scowl on Ratchet’s faceplates deepens as he grabs Sideswipe’s wrist to yank his arm straight, focusing on the wound sliced into the metal.

“Does it _feel_ like genius?” He prods the burnt plating around the wound, gauging Sideswipe’s reactive flinch. The fact that Sunstreaker shuffles uncomfortably means it’s a strong enough pain to breach their split-spark bond.

“... No…” 

“Does it _look_ like genius?” Sideswipe glances around the room, lingering on the panel Sunstreaker punched out. It means they won’t be able to use the brig for a while, whether they capture prisoners or not.

“Not one of my proudest moments, that for sure.” If it weren’t for the note of dejection in Sideswipe’s tone, Ratchet would definitely have clocked him with the wrench. Rolling his optics, Sunstreaker shoves at his brother’s slightly singed shoulder.

“This makes for one of your _worst_ moments.” There’s a flicker of mischief in Sideswipe’s field, the brotherly teasing having yanked him out of whatever dark place he was about to find himself in.

“Worse than when I drove over your art set and ruined the mural you’d just finished?” Sunstreaker narrows his optics. Sideswipe sends a burst of apology through his spark, but it’s cheeky and tinged with mirth.

Sunstreaker pokes the sore, burnt shoulder a little harder.

”Ow!”

“Your fault.”

“How?!”

“You provoked me.”

“You- Ratchet, he’s making it wooorse!” A heavy wrench hits the side of their helms in quick succession, a yelp followed by a grunt of pain.

“Both of you, stop it! Sideswipe, you’re in a _scrapload_ of trouble right now, so I suggest shutting up. Sunstreaker, behave. Leave your sibling squabbles for downtime.”

“Yes, Ratchet.”

“Aww, but you loooove hearing us bicker and eventually fight~!” The wrench clangs off Sideswipe’s helm again. He only laughs, convincing Sunstreaker that his twin does indeed have more than a few screws missing. Ratchet’s optics narrow in concern as he turns his attention to a charred gouge in Sideswipe’s thigh.

It hadn’t looked that bad at first, but Ratchet is suddenly acutely aware that the only reason it isn’t bleeding like the rest of the wounds and scuffs, is because the heat from the plasma energon beams had seared a fuel line shut. It’s a miracle he’s even standing right now.

“Alright, let’s get you to medbay. Sunstreaker, carry your brother. I’m not having him walking and making my job harder.” Sunstreaker makes to say something, mouth open and expression irritated, but a quick glare from Ratchet paired with a shake of the infamous wrench shuts him up. He still scowls, though.

Sideswipe’s grin turns into giggles as he’s picked up and slung over Sunstreaker’s shoulders with surprising gentleness. It might not _look_ gentle, but Sunstreaker cares. He loves his nuisance brother, and would never do anything to seriously harm him.

Harm him, yes. They frequently fight, as siblings do.  
Harm him _seriously_ , no. Not intentionally.

“Hiiii, Sunny~.” The way Sideswipe is slung across Sunstreaker’s shoulders mean he’s curled around Sunstreaker’s helm, legs and arms held in front, and his full weight pressed against the back of Sunstreaker’s neck.

It also means his face is right in Sunstreaker’s. Something he’s going to take advantage of.

“Call me that _one more time_ , and I’ll drop you.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“I will.”

“Bet.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Dare you.”

“... By Primus, you’re annoying.” Sideswipe snickers, knowing he’s won this round. He also knows, that if he keeps pressing, he can wriggle his way back on Sunstreaker’s good side.

“Soooo, I made up a new song for you~.”

“No. _No_. Abso-fragging-lutely not.”

“Aww, c’mon! You know you love my singing!”

“You mean your out-of tune caterwauling that Sparkplug once thought was a dying cat in your vents?”

“... Wow, Sunny, you know where to hurt me.” There’s a heavy snort of amusement. Sideswipe’s grin grows to devious proportions. The med-cay is in sight, but Sideswipe has not yet finished.

“I thought you loved me! I thought we were twins! I thought we-”

“Oh, shut up, Sides~.” There’s joy and love and warmth dancing across their split-spark bond, and Sideswipe relaxes against Sunstreaker’s shoulders.

“Love you, Sunshine.”

“Love you too, pain the aft.” Ratchet smiles as he walks in front of them, having felt the softening of their fields. Suddenly, there’s an _eruption_ of playfulness from Sideswipe, and Ratchet spins around just in time to witness-

Sideswipe takes a deep vent, before curling in tighter and pressing his lips to Sunstreaker’s cheek plates, blowing a raspberry that Sunstreaker has no escape from.

“Urgh!!! Sideswipe!” Despite how he leans away, as if he’s trying to escape it, Sunstreaker warmly accepts the wet, cheeky affection. It’s not _quite_ a kiss, but it’s a very Sideswipe-esque was of reassuring his brother how much he loves him, how much he relies on him, and how they’ll always be together.

They’re two halves of the same spark, brothers until the end.

“Come along, you little rascals. I don’t have all day to tend to you.” As Ratchet steps into his medbay, he hears another loud raspberry and an almost-laugh from Sunstreaker as he ‘demands’ Sideswipe stop.

The old medic sighs, shaking his head with a small smile. 

It’s only halfway through fixing Sideswipe’s leg that his helm darts up, optics wide and expression guilty.

“Oh, _scrap_.”

“Ratchet?”

“I left Prowl crashed in the hallway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe is absolutely chaotic and Sunstreaker is just. Done.  
> Generally how siblings work! :D
> 
> Thanks for reading~!!!  
> I might fall behind a little because it's really hard to balance work and writing life, but I'll try to get all 29 done before mid-March!


	4. Forehead kiss, PARENTAL. Prowl, Bluestreak, Smokescreen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, this one contains a little bit of injuries, battle, and a loooot of emotions!

“Bluestreak! It’s time!” Just finishing up collecting the last items needed for a mission, Bluestreak’s doorwings flick happily as Bumblebee darts in through the doorframe. He’s buzzing with excitement - no pun intended - and it’s contagious.

“I know, ‘Bee~! I’m just adding one more scope to my L129A1, just in case! You never know how far away you’ll end up when the battle moves but you can’t because you’re in sniper position and have to remain in cover, so-”

“ _Blue_! It’s okay~! Just hurry up, it’s our first duo mission, I don’t want to be late!” That said, Bumblebee darts off again, way too energetic to stay still for more than a few _astroseconds_.

Bluestreak can’t blame him.  
This is, after all, a pivotal moment for both of them.

It’s their first Spec Ops mission without the more experienced members. 

There is, of course, a back-up plan involving the whole Spec Ops team, plus the higher up officers, should anything go to pot during the battle. Bluestreak is fully confident that it absolutely _will_.

Spec Ops have a record of fragging up plans, more so since their two youngest members joined. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. They always get the job done, albeit messily and in a burst of chaos, and come home injured instead of dead. 

Injured is always better than dead.

“Bluestreak.” Clicking the scope into place, Bluestreak snaps his helm to the new presence in his open doorway, breaking into a beaming smile.

“Hey, Smokescreen! Come to wish me luck? Because I don’t really need it, but I also _really_ need it~.” With a warm chuckle, Smokescreen moves from leaning against the doorway to standing in the room, glancing over Bluestreak’s impressive collection of rifles.

“I could wish you luck, little one, but like you said, I don’t think you’ll need it~.”

“No, I guess not. But that’s mainly because of my arsenal. I’m deliberating which one I should use as my primary weapon and which one I should attach to my belt in case I get ambushed, and which one I should put in my subspace in case I _have_ to move, and what ammo would be most effective. But I can only gauge that once I’m set up and measured the distance.”

“Deep vent, Bluestreak. Just because we don’t need air-”

“Doesn’t mean I can stop venting. I know~.” He gives his caretaker a reassuring smile, slinging his packed bag full of weaponry over his shoulder and patting it when it settles on his hip. 

Smokescreen’s placid smile melts into a worried frown. Blue is just a youngling. Just a _kid_. He’s his baby brother, his and Prowl’s, but had formed a much deeper bond with them due to the deactivation of their creators.

Without their creators for the newspark to bond to, Bluestreak had instead latched onto the co-creation bonds from his brothers.  
Ratchet had said it was the only reason the newspark had survived.

“I’m still not happy with how _young_ they’re sending you on your first mission.” Sensing the worry radiating in Smokescreen’s field, Bluestreak steps close and hugs him, waiting for Smokescreen to respond in kind before he speaks.

“I know. But I’m not going alone. ‘Bee will be there, and everyone has our backs if things go wrong.”

“... But I won’t be.”

“Prowl will. And you _know_ Jazz wouldn’t have even considered this unless he thought ‘Bee and I were entirely ready. Which we are. I think. I mean, at least skill-wise, but I’m not sure about doing-this-on-our-own-wise.” Smokescreen humms softly in thought as he pulls away from the hug.

“Just be careful.”

“I will~!” Flashing Smokescreen another bright, beaming grin, Bluestreak jogs off to the entrance of the Ark where Bumblebee is no doubt impatiently waiting to get going, probably driving in circles to burn off some excitement.

And no doubt stocked full of grenades. For some reason, Bumblebee has taken a liking to grenades lately. Delighted, Jazz and Wheeljack had prepared him many different kinds he could use in espionage and casual destruction of the enemy.

Bluestreak is pleasantly surprised that he was wrong, and Bumblebee is instead sensibly waiting for him, along with the group of their back-up plan. 

Optimus Prime, Jazz, and Prowl stand as a trio, talking quietly between themselves. Ironhide distracts Bumblebee by playfighting. It’s probably meant to be sparring, but ‘Bee is far too playful and Ironhide wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt him.

The rest of the Autobots had gone on ahead to fight the Decepticons.

“Prowl!” At Bluestreak’s call, the SiC calmly turns around, doorwings flickering in greeting, but also with a beat of anxiety. He’s just as worried as Smokescreen, even if he keeps his expression schooled firmly into professionalism.

“Good orn, Bluestreak.” 

“Is everything ready? Is everything set up? How’s our timing; are we nearly ready to go? I can’t _wait_ to do this and prove myself!!!” One of Prowl’s doorwings flicks with a hint of humour, and his lipplates twitch upwards.

“You have nothing to prove, Bluestreak. But since you and Bumblebee are so eager, I propose we should get going?” Bluestreak nods enthusiastically, and Bumblebee’s cheer of ‘yesss!’ in the background is followed by Prime’s warm laugh and a gentle ‘shh~’. 

Bluestreak can almost imagine Prime putting a servo on Bumblebee’s helm to stop him bouncing around in pure enthusiasm.

“Ya ready, bitlets?” Both of them snap to Jazz, saluting casually at his grin. As the Spec Ops leader, Jazz has their unconditional respect. The fact that he’s trusting them with such a _huge_ mission - alone! - is testament that he trusts them in return.

“Ready, Sir!”

“Ready and revved up!!!” Jazz laughs, servos on his hips. 

“Easy there, ‘Bee~. Save that energy for makin’ yer grand escape!” Forcing himself to calm, Bumblebee nods. Bluestreak nudges his friends shoulder teasingly. Clearing his vents, Jazz’s expression turns more serious.

“Now listen. I’m sending ya out because ah think you’ve proved yerselves _far_ too many time ta _not_ be given a task like this. All ya gotta do is stick t’ the plan, an’ you’ll come back as full-fledged Spec Ops agents capable of yer own missions ‘stead of just team missions.”

“And you _will_ stick to the plan.” Prowl narrows his optics at their two youngest, well aware of Spec Ops’ traditional ‘frag, we got caught, blow everything up’ method. 

This plan has been constructed perfectly for them, the entire Spec Ops team and officers pouring over every tiny detail to make sure it was failproof. As long as Bluestreak and Bumblebee did as they were told.

They’d had the plan drilled into them too, so “I forgot” could not be used as an excuse.

“Promise me you’ll stick to the plan.” The duo nod, Bluestreak’s doorwings dipping with sincerity and Bumblebee - not yet able to control his field - radiating _trust/honesty/dedication_.

Primus, it’s just a reminder of how young they are, and once more, Prowl’s doorwings flick with concern. Jazz spares him a glance and reassuring smile. But considering he’s the _leader_ of the team that infamously breaks formation, Prowl isn’t exactly soothed.

It’s much more effective when Ironhide places a friendly servo on his shoulder.

“Aww, c’mon now Prowl… We raised these bitlets ourselves. They’re good kids, Ah’m sure they’ll do everything by th’ book!” Jazz decides not to mention the (definitely dangerous) grenades he and Wheeljack secretly supplied Bumblebee with.

Or the new bullets Bluestreak has, which deliver a nasty electromagnetic shock capable of putting a grown mech into immediate stasis.

Luckily for Jazz, Optimus doesn’t mention them either.

“Yes, yes, I know. But I still have to make sure.”

“We will, Prowl, I promise.” Bluestreak’s reassurance is enough to settle Prowl’s nerves, just a little, and his doorwings relax. Noting the difference, Optimus nods to himself in satisfaction.

“I think we’re ready. Autobots, roll out!” Clouds of dust are left in their wake, charging towards the battlefield where the rest of the Autobots are already fighting the Decepticons at a carefully selected nuclear power plant.

Once they had become aware it was in the Decepticon’s interests, they’d formed this plan to _hopefully_ put Megatron at a disadvantage.

It was relatively simple. From a vantage point a couple of miles away, Bluestreak would hide under the cover of Earth’s fauna. He’d wait there until Megatron was within range of the energon cubes the ‘Cons had already stolen, wherever on the field that may be, and shoot the warlord with a round heavy enough to knock him into the explosive fuel pile.

From there, Bumblebee was to emerge from a route through the power plants vent system, dropping a small disc onto Megatron from above that would slow his neural network. He wouldn’t be able to fight at full strength if he couldn’t even _move_ properly.

A simple plan. A good mission for their graduation from team agents to full agents.

Bluestreak happily settled himself into the thick brambles on a relatively sheltered ledge, the overhang above keeping him completely out of view of the battle, whilst his scope gave him incredible visibility.

And that was where things went gloriously pear-shaped.

Because the verge was so sheltered and far from the battle without being completely separated, it was a wonderful place for the badly wounded to rest. If they could reach it, through a method like, say, _flight_.

Bluestreak startled when a roar of jet engines came far too close, far too far from the battle to be apart of it anymore, and sputtered out with a heavy thud as something - _someone_ \- impacted the ground far too hard in root mode.

Whoever it was dragged themselves closer, using the rocky wall to support themselves, heading towards Bluestreak’s verge. He was going to be found, he realised. 

On his own. Too far for help to arrive on time. By a _Decepticon_.

Rolling onto his back, Bluestreak pointed his rifle at the intruder. Wings twisted, creased, torn, and dripping with energon jolted in surprise, prompting a groan of agony from their owner.

Thundercracker.

He was partially hunched over, practically sliding along the wall with one shaking servo pressed against it to stabilize himself, the other wrapped around his waist and desperately trying to apply pressure to a tear in his side that sent energon down his leg like a waterfall, trailing behind puddles of energon where he staggered.

The one optic that wasn’t shattered shuttered, making sure he really _was_ seeing a sniper, and not hallucinating from pain and low fuel levels.

Ah, no. There really was a small Praxian glaring at him, doorwings held high in panic, barrel of a rifle pointed at him-.

Oh. Barrel of a rifle.

“M’not armed.” Bluestreak jumped at the deep voice, rumbling like Thundercracker’s namesake, but trembling like those mutilated wings were. But Bluestreak does not lower his guard. There might be no gun in Thundercracker’s energon soaked servos, but he is most definitely _not_ unarmed.

“You have your sonic booms.” A pained grunt. Slowly, partially collapsing despite trying to stay standing in front of the enemy, Thundercracker slides down the rock wall. His shoulder gouges into the rock, and his wing catches on little juts left behind. Bluestreak can’t help but wince.

Still, he doesn’t move from where he’s lying on his back, finger on the trigger, hoping that his rifle is aimed at the Decepticon’s helm in case he dare do anything. The scope is too powerful for him to take aim through at this close distance.

“Red one… Tore ‘part my thrust’rs…” Blue optics flicker down to Thundercracker’s pedes, wincing again when he realises the seeker walked here on what’s basically strips of scrap metal. They’re charred and twisted from where he flew up to this vantage point too.

Seems like Sideswipe had been getting a little _too_ into the jet judo.

“Empty your subspace.” Thundercracker hunches in his sitting position, back flush against the rock wall, optics dimming before lighting up white again at a burst of pain from his side. Bluestreak swallows down a lump in the back of his throat cabling.

“Empty your subspace!” Moving slowly and shakily, Thundercracker does. Peering around his rifle, easing off the trigger but not reengaging the safety, Bluestreak glances at the very few items there.

A rusty datapad, a loose cable that seemed to be a replacement part, and a small handful of shiny stones. Pretty pebbles that Bluestreak knows Hound likes to collect from riverbeds and beaches. 

Huh. Bluestreak didn’t expect a Decepticon to do the same.

“S’all I got.” The speech is slurred, and Bluestreak does his best to keep his rifle trained on Thundercracker’s frame, fighting the sympathetic urge to make sure he’s okay, apply some basic field aid.

He doesn’t think Thundercracker will appreciate it.

But whilst Bluestreak has his close encounter, eyes fixed on the ‘Con in close quarters, he’s not watching the battlefield. There’s a sinking feelings in his tank that he’s going to fail this test, that he’s going to have to abandon the mission-

Going to have to abandon _Bumblebee_ and pray to Primus that the scout manages to get out of it alive somehow. 

Down below, the battle rages on, Autobots and Decepticons tangled in a vicious dance of gunfire, ambush, and combat. All that seperates Bumblebee from it is a vent. He peers through it, filtering out the pick glow of the energon cubes beneath him, waiting for Megatron to stumble into them when Bluestreak shoots him.

Currently, Megatron stands in a perfect space between Bumblebee’s position and the verge Bluestreak should be on, though noone can see him from there. It’s an easy shot. It should be an easy shot. But nothing happens.

“Come on… Come on… C’mon, ‘Blue! He’s right there!” Bumblebee watches, optics dimming with a sense of loss and despair as the Decepticons start to overpower the Autobots. Watching Ironhide take a nasty shot meant for Cliffjumper’s back, Bumblebee makes his decision.

His servo tightens around the magnetic disc.

“If I survive this, I _really_ hope I don’t get extra monitor duty…” Taking a deep vent, Bumblebee transforms and bursts from the vent, the speed launching him towards Megatron at a good pace, and he transforms back to root mode with the disc in hand, ready to slam it down on the warlord’s plating and-

“ _ **Bumblebee!!!**_ ” Prime’s panicked and slightly angry shout is all the warning Bumblebee has before Starscream slams into him, sending him right into the heart of enemy lines. The disc scatters across the ground, landing the wrong way up, and is quickly crushed by Astrotrain’s pede - not that he even notices.

“Well, well, well~. What do we have here? A little Autobot _spy_!!!” Starscream picks him up by the back of the neck, holding him aloft like a kitten. 

“Uh… No?” Red optics narrow at the pitiful attempt to avoid what Starscream intends to be certain death.

“Pathetic. Really, pathetic.” Starscream lifts his other arm, pointing his null ray directly at the chestplates that cover Bumblebee’s spark chamber. Fear pulses through him, and thanks to his young age, it’s broadcasted widely in his field, making Starscream cackle menacingly.

“Not so brave now, are we, stupid minicon?” His null ray moves as he laughs. Bumblebee takes in a small, sharp vent. He has an idea.

It’s not a good one. But it’s an idea.

“I’m not brave, you’re right. But I _am_ pretty stupid.” He kicks out one leg, pede catching Starscream’s servo and pushing the null ray away just enough that Bumblebee has time to reach into his subspace, sweeping out a litany of spherical objects that drop to the ground around him and Starscream, a few rolling beneath other Decepticons pedes.

Starscream narrows his optics at them. They start to jutter and sizzle. Optics wide, Starscream whips his gaze back to Bumblebee, _furious_ , and Bumblebee shrugs cheekily with a half-smirk. 

Just as the grenadess go silent, echoing the stunned hush that has fallen on the battlefield, Bumblebee twists his helm to his Autobot friends. His family. He smiles.

“Sorry guys.” His optics flash white with terror an astrosecond before the bombs explode in sync, creating a powerful burst of sound that forces those outside the blast radius backwards. Those _within_ the blast radius are impossible to see through thick, dense smoke, a mushroom-like cloud rising from the explosion.

Bluestreak _feels_ it before he sees it. The sensors on his doorwings flash with over-sensitivity before a gust buffets the verge, sending debris their way and pushing Bluestreak a little closer to Thundercracker.

Disregarding the threat of having one of the command trine so close, Bluestreak fights the gale and claws his way on his belly to the edge of the ledge. He doesn’t need his scope to see what’s happening.

Flickers of gold and amber break through the black wall of smoke, the entire power plant ablaze. Doorwings hitched in distress, Bluestreak whispers in horror;

“Bumblebee…” There’s no doubt the chaos and destruction below is due to the scout’s recent tendency to use grenades. Bluestreak, confused and horrified by the damage, feels a flare of anger.

“Just how many bombs did you have, ‘Bee?! That’s not-!! Why would you _do_ that!!! That’s not safe!!!” A choked sob is drawn out of Bluestreak’s vocaliser, but he cuts it off when he feels a field brush against his own, filled with pity and a strange, awkward attempt to comfort.

“Don’t you dare!!! Don’t you _dare_ , Thundercracker! This is- This is all your fault! All _your fault_!!! If you hadn’t landed here and distracted me-! Was that your aim all along?!” Bluestreak, consumed in grief and rage, raises the butt of his rifle, about to slam it into the ‘Cons cheekplate. It’s disturbing that Thundercracker only regards him with something akin to sympathy.

“Blue!” A white servo catches the underside of the gun before it impacts, matching servo laying gentle over Bluestreak’s, grasping the barrel.

“Easy, Bluestreak, easy… It’s okay, we’re here now.” Another sob escapes Bluestreak as he lifts his helm slowly, liquid-filled optics blurring the frame of the bot stopping him. But he knows those colours, that field, that _love_ anywhere.

“P- Prowl…” Gently, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal, Prowl peels Bluestreak’s servos off the rifle, tossing it a safe distance away. He brings Bluestreak in close, tucking the sniper’s helm into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, Bluestreak, it’s okay… We’re here, we’re here.” The plural only occurs to Bluestreak when he feels a reassuring servo brush over his doorwings, Smokescreen giving him a burst of affection and comfort over his field before he moves to the barely conscious ‘Con crumpled on the verge floor.

“We knew something was wrong when you never took the shot. This explains why.” Smokescreen pokes and prods, a soft growl warning him off when he gets too close to the worst wound on Thundercracker’s side. He holds his servos up in mock surrender and backs off to join Bluestreak and Prowl, the former crying freely in his brother’s arms.

“Hush, little one. You did the best you could, under the circumstances.” Whilst Smokescreen talks to Bluestreak, Prowl spares a glance at a worryingly placid Thundercracker.

“He won’t last long without a medic. Let’s hope First Aid isn’t _too_ busy.” Wiping at his optics, Bluestreak hoarsely mumbles;

“What about ‘Bee…? Shouldn’t all the medics-”

“Ratchet took him back immediately. It’s… I’m not going to lie. It’s bad, but Bumblebee’s the type to bounce back from anything.” Smokescreen rumbles his engine comfortingly, servo stroking the back of Bluestreak’s helm.

“He’ll be okay.” Bluestreak’s faceplates twist, fighting back another wave of fresh tears. Gently, Smokescreen leans in and places a kiss on Bluestreak’s forehelm - the kind he remembers their creators giving him when he was a youngling. 

Almost immediately, Bluestreak starts to calm, and Smokescreen feels the co-creation bond tug against his spark. Prowl must too, because he tries to hide a rising smile and instead discreetly gives Bluestreak the exact same attention, a gentle and loving kiss to the forehelm.

“I’m proud of you, Bluestreak. _We’re_ proud of you.” The silent addition of ‘our creators would be too’ is enough to calm Bluestreak enough that he pulls out of their embrace.

“O- Okay… Okay. Can we go see ‘Bee now? I need to- I have to apologise for putting him in that position.” Smokescreen mumbles a soft ‘not your fault’ as Prowl moves to the injured Decepticon, glancing him over before putting on cuffs from his subspace for safety. 

In an act of kindness, he puts the datapad and a couple of the pebbles - the cable and other pebbles stolen by the gust - back into Thundercracker’s subspace. It earns him an appreciative nod before Thundercracker willingly powers down into stasis to conserve what little remains of his energy. … And energon.

“A high-ranking prisoner on your first mission. Not bad.” Bluestreak manages a small nod, quiet in his turbulent emotions. 

It takes a while for them to make it back down to where everyone is waiting, Bluestreak carrying their weaponry, whilst his brothers support the prisoner behind them. It’s not easy to do when he’s so mangled that there’s nowhere they can safely grip.

Optics widen as soon as the trio and seeker come into view. First Aid looks up from where he’s patching up a gash on Ironhide’s shoulder.

“Oh my. Sorry, Ironhide, I’m going to bump up priority on this one.”

“Not a problem, ‘Aid. Jus’ be careful ‘round that ‘con, a’right?” Optimus gives Ironhide’s other shoulder a thankful squeeze, knowing how hard it is for Ironhide to accept that even Decepticons should be treated with respect and care. He watches as Jazz darts over to Bluestreak, servos roaming the youngling to make sure he’s okay, worrying over his teammate like a mother hen.

“Jazz, I- I ‘m okay, really, I am. Is ‘Bee…?” Jazz stills, pulling his servos away and frowning with a serious expression.

“He’s in crit condition. Ratchet says he’s got a good chance of pulling through, but only ‘cus the bitlet managed to use Starscream as a shield between himself an’ the immediate explosion.”

“But- but you won’t punish him, right? Not for- Not for this… Not when it was my mistake…” 

“Blue. It weren’t your fault, Ah swear it. Ya couldn’t do anything wi’h a _seeker_ on your tailpipe.”

“I guess not… But you’re still not going to punish ‘Bee, right?!” Jazz is quiet for a moment. He vents hard.

“That’s up to OP. And honestly, Ah think he’s _mad_ that lil’ ‘Bee would put himself in such danger. But… Ah’m pretty sure seeing ‘Bee suffering through getting better is gonna convince him t’ leave off. Just getting better is gonna be punishment enough for ‘Bee.”

“Okay… Thanks, Jazz.” Giving the young Praxian an encouraging smile, Jazz puts one servo on his shoulder and shakes it just a little with a squeeze.

“Ya did good! Evaluating th’ situation, prioritising safety above th’ plan, an’ taking _Thundercracker_ prisoner… I’d say ya passed with flying colours!” Bluestreak’s optics shutter and he tilts his helm with visible confusion, faceplates scrunched up.

“I, uh… What? _What?_ Jazz, are you-... Did you hit your helm? I definitely didn’t do good enough to pass!! I couldn’t stick to the plan, I abandoned Bumblebee when he needed me most, and it almost got him killed! Everything I did was… Was wrong!”

“Now don’tcha go talking like that until ya think about it. Give it a couple ‘o days, an’ you’ll realise exactly what Ah mean~.” His face falls again.

“I am gonna hafta fail ‘Bee, but that’s only ‘cus he proved he ain’t ready for solo missions yet. Pits, his recklessness has gone from bravery to… To just plain reckless! I ain’t lookin’ forward to the talk Ah gotta give him. Nip this… Self-sacrificin' attitude in the bud before it becomes habit.”

“... ‘Bee? Not putting himself in danger to help someone else? Jazz, if you can convince him to do that, I’ll get Smokey to start a bet that leaves you set for life.” Laughing, Jazz slaps his servos on Bluestreak’s shoulder in a friendly manner, steering him back towards the arc.

“C’mon, ma mech! We got permish t’ leave early and go check on our lil’ troublemaker~.”

“Permish?” 

“Permission~. Jazz has taken to shortening as many words as possible.” Mirage holds up a hand in greeting, and Hound smiles, giving Bluestreak a fist-bump. As soon as the explanation sinks in, Bluestreak’s optics widen and he transforms.

“Then what are we waiting for?! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Laughing fondly, the other Spec Ops members transform and start their engines, Jazz leading the way with Hound and Mirage flanking Bluestreak. 

Before they leave entirely, Bluestreak stops, turning around to see Prowl and Smokescreen. They seem to sense it, looking up at him in sync, and giving him encouraging nods. Bluestreak’s spark feels warm.

In the condition he’d been in, he knows no one else could have pulled him out of it. His co-creations mean everything to him, brothers that raised him from a newspark in the absence of creators.

In a way, they _are_ his creators.

Bluestreak sends one final pulse of _love/thankyou/family_ across the co-creation bond before he speeds off, back to the Ark.

Back to home.


	5. Tip of the nose, ROMANTIC. Starscream, Skyfire.

“Pass the SbCl5.”

“You can just _say_ Antimony Pentachloride, Starscream~.” Starscream narrows his optics at Skyfire, gesturing impatiently for the scientist to pass the compound over. Rolling his optics with affection, Skyfire does so.

“How would I weed out the stupid ones if I don’t test their knowledge?”

“I would think, sweetspark, that you would have ‘weeded me out’ by now if you didn’t enjoy working with me~.” Starscream smirks. He doesn’t need to say out loud how comfortable he feels working with Skyfire.

They’re the two rejects of the academy, Starscream too haughty and Skyfire a big, clumsy shuttle. Hence, they’d been pushed together when noone else wanted to work with either of them, and it had been the start of a beautiful partnership.

A literal partnership, now that they were courting. 

“I’m just making sure your processors are tip-top shape, my dear.” With a warm chuckle, Skyfire slides an arm around Starscream’s waist, large servo resting on his hip.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“With _your_ roommate, I most certainly do! Primus, I can _feel_ my processor shutting down every astrosecond he sits there silently, just- just stupidly silent!” Skyfire’s new roommate, because his last one has complained about his size again, was one of the new first year students.

“That’s because you scare him.”

“How!?”

“The first time I introduced you, you pushed him against the wall with a snarl and interrogated him on 5th year topics we'd only just learnt. We’re not even in the same year.” Sniffing in disdain, Starscream peers into one of the flasks he’s experimenting with, noting down the colour and temperature.

“Well, I didn’t know that, did I? Besides, he’s a reject too. What if the academy took that to mean he should be in our little after class study session?”

“... He has one friend. Skywarp, the third year.” A laugh escapes Starscream’s vocaliser, though it’s not unkind. His field has threads of interest in.

“Your roommate is friends with the infamous prankster that destroyed building C?”

“I think they were friends before Thundercracker came to the academy.”

“How does that even work? Your roommate is a silent idiot, Skywarp is a loud idiot- Oh wait, they’re both idiots. _That’s_ how it works.” Skyfire’s servo squeezes Starscream’s waist to admonish him. Starscream looks up at him, momentarily pausing in their after-class education, and shutters his optics once.

It’s not verbal, but it’s an apology. Skyfire offers him a gentle smile in forgiveness before Starscream returns to their work.

“You say Skywarp destroyed building C, but I am not entirely blind to the fact you were suspiciously nearby~.” The corners of Starscream’s lips twitch up into a mischievous smirk.

“I might have… Supervised~.”

“Starscream!”

“Oh come on! Sure, he had the right _chemicals_ , but he was just going to throw them together willy-nilly! I had to advise him how _**not**_ to blow up the whole Academy!” Laughing, Skyfire pulls Starscream in towards him, placing an adoring, loving kiss to the tip of his nose.

“I _knew_ you were involved, you silly cybergoose~.” Softening, melting into Skyfire’s hug, Starscream rests his helm against Skyfire’s cockpit, trying to hide his warm smile.

“Yes, well… I don’t have many friends. Apart from you, before we started courting, I didn’t have _any_ friends. I would, perhaps reluctantly, agree that Skywarp is growing on me.”

“That’s great, Star! Though, I can only imagine the trouble you two will put the staff through…” The little snicker that erupts from Starscream lets Skyfire know he’s going to be running a lot of interference. He opens his arms again, letting Starscream slip out from the hug to resume his chemical experiment. 

“It’s rather bubbly.”

“Yes. I had noticed that. But the reaction is still endothermic, so I don’t think we need to worry about it exploding this time.”

“Could we potentially add Thiourea to stabilize the oxidisation?” For a moment, Starscream is silent, his optics wide and bright.

“Skyfire, you _genius_! I never would have even thought about that!” Darting off to the chemical cabinet, Skyfire watches him with a soft, loving gaze, optics a slightly dimmer blue with pure adoration. As Starscream rummages about, he pulls out a few other things too.

Strips of organic material to test acidity, metal shavings to use as a catalyst for a reaction, and some crushed powder from former experiments to combine with this one.

He’s doing something important, after all.

“This should be the last step in creating Ingredient X. Once this component is created, we can mix it with the other pieces, and we’ll have created a bas ingredient that can then be used as a base ingredient in _any_ medication!” 

“It’s going to help a lot of Cybertronians.”

“Frag that, it’s going to help the _universe_!” Skyfire chuckles, standing back patiently and just passing over the equipment Starscream asked for. Like this, he couldn’t accidentally knock the flask over, or break something. 

It was how they’d both gone from rejects about to be kicked out of the academy, to rejects at the top of all their classes.

Suddenly, Skyfire straightens up, freezing in holding out a titration stand. Starscream knows from the glow of overly-bright optics that he’s getting a comm. He waits until Skyfire sighs with a hint of amusement.

“Who was it? What was it?”

“Thundercracker.”

“Urgh, your stupid roommate.”

“My _terrified of you_ roommate. He says Skywarp is currently trying to rig our washracks to turn me bright green. Huh.”

“What. In the Pit.” Starscream tidies up remarkably quickly, just as meticulous and safe as ever. Then, he grabs Skyfire’s servo and starts dragging him out of the lab.

“As much as I love you, I am not having you bright green. Not all all. Primus above, you’d look like Acid Storm!” Skyfire’s laugh echos in the corridors as they head towards the dormitory section.

“A very large Acid Storm, that for sure!” Starscream cackled, as he always did, though he quietened before reaching the door to Skyfire’s dorm. Worryingly, he inspected the ends of his digits that could be extended into claws.

“I’ll get that half-clocked idiot out of the washracks. You keep your roomie occupied. I will _not_ have him trying to defend Skywarp, if he even has the nerve.” 

That said, Starscream entered Skyfire’s code into the door, waltzed in - but not without making an “I’m watching you” gesture at Thundercracker - and went straight to the washracks with a screech of Skywarp’s name.

“Thanks for notifying me, Thundercracker~.” The young blue seeker, an awkward first year in every way, flicked his wings with gratitude, as if he wasn’t used to being thanked.

“No problem. I tried to stop Skywarp, but…” He sighed, though the corners of his lips twitched up, arms crossed over a datapad in his servos.

“Apparently I bored him with a study session and he needed some ‘fun’ to balance it out.” There’s the obvious ruckus of Starscream and Skywarp squabbling like co-creations in the background, and it quickly resolves in a large gush of water tangled ion with a scream.

The two emerge from the wash racks with fresh green paint dripping over their own frames. Skyfire instantly takes an image capture, knowing he’ll keep it for the rest of his life, a precious memoir of Starscream’s first friend and the good days in the academy.

“Skyfire! Stop laughing! No, stop! Stop _laughing_!”


	6. Tip of the nose, PARENTAL. Soundwave, Ravage.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Con game night?  
> Con game night!

Soundwave observed that The Nemesis was, as per usual, in absolute chaos. 

Whenever a raid had resulted in just enough cubes to keep everyone from starving, Megatron allowed them the next day completely free of duties, so he could plan their next assault. 

That in no way meant that the Decepticons would be resting.

The common room had broken out into ruckus and rambunctious partying, though without the high grade. Most of the seats at the rectangular tables were occupied with mechs who were happy just to sit and talk, making crude jokes or telling tales of adventure. Currently, Thundercracker had that groups attention as he wove a story of fantasy, betrayal, and daring challenges.

(Sometimes, Soundwave would read his mind when on monotonous screen duty. He indulged in the wonderful stories, the heartbreaking twists, and the adventurous journeys that Thundercracker dreamt up, always with a happy ending.)

One table was dedicated towards arm wrestling, and had gathered quite a crowd. Motormaster and Onslaught seemed quite evenly matched, and Swindle collected bets from those who cheered on the gestalt leaders.

In the far corner, a selection of board games and consoles - both Cybertronian and human in origin - had been spread out for the sake of entertainment. A large hologram of the screen revealed the current game was Quiplash, a human one that the Decepticons had taken to _extremely_ well. 

“What is a good sign you accidentally married a duck?” With all the enthusiasm of a presenter, Hook reads out the prompt. The two contestants - Wildrider and Blitzwing - type out what can only be ridiculous answers. When the cards flip, Hook has trouble keeping a straight face.

“ _‘Every day is quackers’_ , from Blitzwing, or _‘You get to shove all the eggs up your afthole’_ from Wildrider! Place your votes now!” The uproarious laughter earns a snap of _‘shut up!!!’_ from Starscream, trying to teach the few around the board game selection how to play Risk.

Trying, being the keyword. Strategy doesn’t seem to be a past time for those whom Starscream is now referring to as ‘miss-clocks with cranium plating thicker than the sea of rust’. Rumble and Frenzy in particular are ruining his explanation, but they seem to be doing it on purpose.

“Urgh! Soundwave! Either control your brats or help me demonstrate the gameplay! I _know_ you’re good at Risk.” Lingering in the shadows by the game corner, quite content to observe everyone else, Soundwave holds up a polite hand in refusal.

“Soundwave; will have to decline. Current recreation; Observing.”

“You’re about to observe me punting your gremlins across the fragging room.”

“... Rumble, Frenzy; Cease aggravations.” Laughing, the two scramble away from Starscream’s Risk board, instead stumbling over each other as they go to interfere with Astrotrain’s game of chess against Dead End, and the group of mechs attempting Cluedo. 

It’s hard to play a murder mystery game when you’re more invested in _actual_ murder.  
Bonecrusher looks like he's about to fulfill that, if Long Haul doesn't stop whining.

“If you’re looking for your other irritating little slaggers, Buzzsaw and Laserbeak are racing through the corridors, Ratbat is in our quarters reading through Thundercracker’s old datapads, and Ravage… Who knows where Ravage is?”

Those who are close enough to hear Starscream shrug or mumble their negatives. Starscream only awards them a narrowed, sarcastic glare.

“Thank you for your _oh so informative_ contributions. Well, Soundwave? Are you joining?” For a moment, Soundwave eyes up the game pieces, deliberating joining the game of Risk to demonstrate to others, whilst also having fun himself.

Starscream is an excellent opponent in strategy, that’s for certain.  
He was a fantastic SiC, possibly even an adequate leader - If only he wasn't so power-hungry and inclined to treachery.

“Negative. Offer; Appreciated.” With a slight dip of the helm to show that he’s leaving on good terms, Soundwave backs out of the room and takes to the quiet corridors, letting the ruckus from the common room fade into the background the further away he gets.

Buzzsaw and Laserbeak soar overhead as they lap around the Nemesis, Soundwave sending them a burst of affection and getting two in return.

He pokes his helm into the Seekers quarters, the door left open for their guest, and spies Ratbat comfortably settled on the floor, surrounded by datapads. Many of them are colourful, Skywarp’s doodles alongside Thundercracker’s writings, or legitimate datapads from before the fall of Vos. 

Curious that they were all safe for younglings, but that was none of Soundwave’s business.

With Ratbat too absorbed in reading to even notice Soundwave there, the communications officer moved on, heading straight towards the incineration room. He knew it was Ravage’s favourite.

Just like the Cyberpanther - and Earthen melanistic leopard - she transformed into, Ravage found great pleasure in lounging around warm, bright areas. A patch of sand in the desert, a windowsill in their temporary bases, or in front of a raging fire.

True to form, as Soundwave entered the room where the incinerator was, there was Ravage, sprawled out on her side and purring as she lightly dozed. Soundwave managed to approach her unheard, and gently brushed his digits over her side.

“Prrip?” The noise of surprise was coupled with Ravage flicking her ears in displeasure at being disturbed, shuttering her optics a few times to shake off the light recharge cycle. She turned to Soundwave. The purring resumed, this time louder.

Gently, Soundwave applied more pressure, petting her side until she rested her head back down on her front paws and closed her eyes again.

“Ravage; certainly has the right idea~.” Soundwave moved to lie on his side next to her, shuttering his own optics off. Right here, right now, he was content. The warmth surrounding him was more than just physical. It was in his spark, and for good reason.

Ravage was his first creation.

His daughter, who had almost been taken from him when it was revealed her spark was only suitable for a symbiote. Soundwave had snuck her from the hospital, a sickly little sparkling with no root form, and taken her to a (partly illegal) clinic to get himself a (definitely illegal) reformat.

He’d become a host mech, all for Ravage. So she wouldn’t be taken away by the then-council. So her spark wouldn’t sputter out whilst they “tried their hardest” to find an appropriate host for someone “of their casting”. 

Of course, that meant having to live underground to avoid execution by the government. The Decepticon uprising had provided the safe haven Soundwave and his creations - because Laserbeak and the twins had been added to his family by that point - desperately needed.

Megatron had accepted them, regardless of caste or illegal reformat, or how Cybertron treated symbiotes. That acceptance had earned their loyalty. 

It was why Ravage was always happy to go out on missions, or fight on the battlefield for the cause. She’d been old enough to understand that the Decepticons were their salvation, and bitter enough to vow an end to the council and the _Autobots_ who fought to protect that council.

Ravage lifted her head, twisting to narrow her eyes at her creator. One of her ears flicked in disdain and Soundwave scratched at her cheek and neck, moving to scritch behind the ear.

“Soundwave; Apologises for thinking too much.” Both ears folded backwards.

“Subject of thought; … Memories. Memories of you.” Ravage stares at him silently. Then, she stretches, cat-like in every way, and circles around a few times before curling up against Soundwave’s chassis, the glass of his cassette deck cool against her fire-warmed plating. 

Her creator rests a hand against her side, the two of them relaxing in the rare moment of peace. Just before Soundwave slips into recharge, Ravage stretches up, rubbing her cheek against his faceplate. 

A content rumble of Soundwave’s systems mixes in with her purr, and Ravage is met with him deliberately pressing the center of his faceplate to her kitty nose. It’s a rare display of affection that only comes in these peaceful times alone, when Soundwave isn’t having to corral her co-creations or serve Megatron.

In the glow of the incinerator, creator and creation ease into a peaceful slumber.


	7. Foreheads pressed, PARENTAL. Ratchet, Bumblebee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a continuation of Chapter 4! :D

The damage is extensive. Corroded wires, melted cables, torn and twisted metal charred and burnt from intense heat… Medical displays beep and whir as they struggle to keep the patient alive, aided only by a red servo readjusting them in quick, desperate movements, barely an astrosecond to spare.

“Don’t do this to me… Don’t to this to me, ‘Bee, come on!” Trying to do 4 things at once to prevent Bumblebee’s spark from sputtering out, Ratchet works like a mech possessed, tunnel vision fixed on his patient, and on his patient only. 

Nothing else happening in the medbay matters right now. Nothing outside of the medbay exists in this moment. 

It’s just Ratchet, doing as much as he can to prevent the Well of Allsparks from taking their youngest.

“No, no, no… Come on… You’re stronger than this, you can make it, it’s okay ‘Bee, I’m going to patch you up, I promise, just hang in there-” Frantic rambling is cut off with the sharp, piercing squeal of a spark monitor, and Ratchet goes silent in horror as he moves from the ruptured neck cabling to the spark chamber, a broken fuel line spilling energon into the chamber. 

The flood levels are dangerously close to the spark. 

But Ratchet doesn’t have _time_ to fix the fuel leak, he has to deal with the jagged fissures and sparking wires around the neck cabling. Any more damage there could result in permanent neural loss to the rest of the body.

Quickly, Ratchet tucks a drainage tube into the puddle of energon in Bumblebee’s spark chamber, using a sticky adhesive to keep it away from the unstable, flickering spark.

“Oh, Bitlet… You’d better pull through. I don’t know what we’d do without you…” The monitors calm for a minute, letting Ratchet continue his work on the neck cabling, reattaching torn scraps of metal and replacing the flexible rubber tubing. 

Careful welds are done slowly, with the utmost attention. The slightest slip could either be fatal, or result in paralysis. There’s no room for error, and letting panic ruin his professionalism could cost Ratchet the life of his patient.

“That’s your motor relays fixed… Now for your spark chamber… Primus Above, ‘Bee, why couldn’t you have just stayed out of the conflict for once…?” Understandably, there’s no answer. With a vent that doubles as a sigh, Ratchet begins by finding the leaking fuel line and applying a temporary patch whilst he reroutes it away from the spark chamber.

“-chet? Ratchet? Hey, Ratchet!” 

“Not _now_ , I’m _**busy!!!**_ ” Snapping out of pure stress, Ratchet flicks his optics over to the owner of the voice for a split astrosecond. Wheeljack stands on the other side of the berth, holding a myriad of helpful tools. He doesn’t seem too upset by Ratchet’s bad bedside manner, though his audial fins flash a deep orange of distress and sadness. Bumblebee is one of his closest friends. Seeing him like this is...

“Tell me how to help.” Shuddering, Ratchet shutters his optics just to reset them from where they’ve completely zoomed in on broken, sparking wires, flickering maintenance lights, and seeping energon.

“There’s heat and shock damage to his helm from the blast. I need you to check his CPU and processor.” 

“On it.” The two fall into silence, tense as they carefully work on the broken frame in front of them, fighting for Bumblebee’s life and trying to pull him out of critical status.

They’re at it for 7 hours. Twice, his spark almost flickers out.

Finally, _finally_ , Ratchet declares that Bumblebee is in stable condition. He’s still horrifically wounded, still in stasis, and needs a lot more work, but he’s _stable_.

Ratchet collapses against the nearest cabinet and slides down it, helm in his servos as he sighs in exhaustion.

“Get some recharge, Ratch’, I’ll keep working for a bit longer.” Not making to move off the floor, Ratchet simply switches off his optics and goes into light recharge mode. In a way, he’s still aware of the sound and movement in the medbay, but his systems are dulled enough for him to rest.

Wheeljack keeps going, into the early hours of the morning - not that either of them can tell from inside the medbay - only stopping once to reply to Prowl’s message on the medbay hub. He knows that right now, the second in command is the best to announce the news to everyone.

“Jackie.” From where he’d been curling metal under high heat back into place, Wheeljack spares a glance at Ratchet, pushing himself off the floor with the support of the cabinet he’d sunk against. 

“Hey, Ratch’. Justa couple of cosmetic touches to go, and then I think he’ll be ready to reboot.” The tension eases from Ratchet’s frame as he notes Wheeljack’s headfins are now a paler blue than his optics, relaxed and assured.

“Thanks for helping. I’m not sure I could have done it alone.”

“You never have to~.” One last piece of shrapnel is welded into place before Wheeljack turns off the blowtorch and sets it aside.

“Well! I’m gonna go get us a few cubes and deal with the masses in the common room.”

“I’d be surprised if they weren’t camping out in the hallway, _blocking my medbay_!” Raising his voice, Ratchet hears scrambling on the other side of the door. He smirks knowingly.

“Go look after yourselves, glitches! I’ll send out a public comm when Bumblebee’s ready for visitors!” There’s a beat of silence. 

_“Go, go!! He’s going to bring the wrench out!!!”_ Sideswipe starts it off, and just like that, mechs flee the corridor, hoping to avoid a dent to the helm. Not that Ratchet would right now. He’s… Still struggling to come to terms that they almost lost Bumblebee.

Twice.

“Take some time with ‘Bee. You look like you need it.” Snorting with a hint of amusement, Ratchet knocks the back of his knuckles against Wheeljack’s shoulder as the laughing engineer exits the medbay to go and get aforementioned cubes.

From the sound of conversation that floats away with distance, Ratchet can tell Optimus Prime had willingly risked an infamous wrench to the cranium in exchange for news on Bumblebee. 

That’s not surprising.

Of all the mechs on board the Arc, most of whom had played a role in raising Bumblebee, Optimus had been the most smitten with the tiny sparkling that got himself into places he shouldn’t, chirruping and purring whenever he was given attention.

“If only you knew how worried we are, ‘Bee…” Ratchet moves a chair close to the edge of the berth, settling into it and reaching out to place a warm, caring servo over one of Bumblebee’s own. It’s small in comparison, but it feels even smaller in this situation.

Ratchet, for a few breems, indulges in just holding that tiny servo, brushing his thumb back and forth as if that would wake Bumblebee up.

It won’t. He’ll have to wake up himself, with time.

The silence of the medbay is only broken by the steady beeps of monitors and equipment, and Ratchet keeps glancing over his own handiwork. There’s… Not much more he can do. Bumblebee will need repainting, that’s for sure, but asides from the bubbled paint and scorched charring, there’s nothing else that needs attending to.

A sudden thought flickers into existence. 

“... I wonder if Sunstreaker left any of his spare polish around here…” Pushing himself up from the chair, Ratchet rummages through a couple of cabinets and cupboards, looking for the polish and wax set that he _knows_ Sunstreaker hid here for use after an injury.

The golden twin had once said that he felt better when he _looked_ better.  
And maybe that was just the vanity speaking, but Ratchet thought that maybe, just for Bumblebee, he’d be willing to test out Sunstreaker’s notion.

“Ah! Here it is! Let’s get you all cleaned up… You’re going to have a lot of visitors later, after all!” The eerie silence that follows his statement would usually be filled with a kind thank you, or a cheeky comment. The lack of response just reminds Ratchet how dire the situation is.

Or at least, how dire it _had_ been.

It’s okay now.  
Everything’s okay now.  
All Bumblebee has to do is _wake up_.

Halfway through polishing the scorched metal, Ratchet feels the plating under his servo shift through the cleaning cloth.

“... Bumblebee?” A groan. A burst of static. Another groan. Then, a _fidget_.

“Bumblebee!” Ratchet promptly abandons the cleaning cloth, both servos moving to Bumblebee’s helm to gently cup his cheeks, hushing him soothingly as he onlines with a choked back sob and whine.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, shh… I’ve got you, Bumblebee, you’re okay…”

“I’m… Alive…?” The quiet question is croaked out with a good amount of static, but Ratchet can only sigh in overwhelming relief, letting his helm drop down to meet Bumblebee’s, forehelms gently pressed together. His voice drops to a whisper.

“You’re alive. Was touch and go for a while but… You’re a stubborn one~.” Bumblebee manages a hoarse chuckle, which is enough to reassure Ratchet that amazingly, everything will be okay. He pulls his helm away slowly, unable to hide the soft smile of relief from Bumblebee’s dimly lit optics.

“Sorry… If I... Uh, scared ya…”

“Oh, you scared _everyone_. What were you thinking, ‘Bee? Throwing yourself behind enemy lines and setting off grenades at close range? That was easily the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“... You sure…?” Quirking an optic ridge, Ratchet gives Bumblebee a gentle slap to the wrist, one of the only places that hasn’t needed medical attention.

“Rascal.” There’s another beat of silence, Bumblebee peering around and taking in his surroundings - and the many machines he’s hooked up to for support - whilst Ratchet does a double check of the statistics on the monitors. 

His optics flash a softer, darker blue when he meets Bumblebee’s again.

“I’m glad you’re safe, ‘Bee. And hey, no more heroics for a while. You’re on _**strict**_ berthrest.” A groan escapes the scout as he drops his helm back to medbay berth. Ratchet spares a quick smirk.

“Oh, and I think Optimus mentioned something about monitor duty too~.” Another gargantuan groan. Laughing, Ratchet gives Bumblebee an affectionate squeeze to the repaired shoulder.

“Don’t worry; you only made him furious! I’m sure your punishment will only last, oh, I don’t know… 3 years~?”

“Ratchet, _put me back in stasis. **Please.**_ ”


	8. Temples, PLATONIC. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak.

“If you scratch my paint _one more time_ , Sides, I swear-”

“It’s not a scratch! … It’s a smudge.”

“For pit’s sake!!!” Sideswipe laughs, sidestepping the punch aimed his way. Sunstreaker’s fist instead impacts the garish orange wall with a heavy thus, the kind of punch that would have surely left a dent if it had struck its original target.

Siblings. Such wonderful creatures.

“Woah, easy there Sunshine! Doc Bot said if I came to him with any more dents before the next battle, he’d make sure I could only see upside down and back to front for the next decacycle!”

“C’mere so I can dent you pretty good then.” The corners of Sunstreaker’s lips twitch upwards, so Sideswipe knows it’s just a tease. He falls in line next to his twin again, the two of them making their way to the common room.

It’ll be empty this time of day, which is _exactly_ what they want.

“Maybe wait until after everything is set up?”

“Don’t tempt me.” The doors to the common room swoosh open as they approach. Abruptly, they freeze in the doorway.

The common room is not empty.

“Oh, hey guys! Prowl figured you’d been inactive for too long and suspected you were gonna do something, so he asked me to guard the energon dispenser! Wow, it’s really scary how accurate his predictions are sometimes. So, whatcha doing?” Bluestreak sits in a chair, one leg over the other, chin resting on his perched servos with a cheeky grin.

“We. Uh. Wrong direction!” Sideswipe makes to turn on heel, spinning around on the spot, but Sunstreaker grabs his elbow to stop him bolting. Sunstreaker’s optics flash a little dimmer with a smug expression dawning on his faceplates.

“You’re only guarding the energon dispenser?”

“Yep.”

“ _Just_ the energon dispenser?” Bluestreak’s grin grows wider, his doorwings fluttering with great amusement. 

“Yep~.” He pops the ‘p’ sound with great satisfaction at how quickly Sunstreaker caught on, devilishly grinning as he explains to Sideswipe that they can continue. Prowl made one mistake with assigning Bluestreak this task;

He never said to _stop_ the twins from doing something.  
And, well, Bluestreak has a penchant for mischief when it comes to his two best friends.

“So what are you doing this time? 10 hour looped video on Teletran? Disabling the entering mechanism for a specific field? Sensors under the tables that puff air on anyone who sits down?”

“No, and those are all _amazing_ ideas, Blue.” Sideswipe pauses for dramatic effect, holding his servos out in front of him as if displaying his beautiful plan before him.

“But we’re going tried and tested~. A classic pressure rig.”

“Ooh, those are my _favourite_! Well, except for that one time you got oobleck all over my doorwing struts. It was so sticky and liquidy it dripped everywhere, but then it went really hard whenever I tried to wash it off!” Sunstreaker shudders at the thought of mess.

“It’s a non-newtonian fluid. Best to wash it off with a damp cloth.”

“Or, like Sunny did when I sacrificed myself for a practice run, punch it until it’s hard, then peel it right off!” 

“Thanks guys. Wish you’d told me that 8 months ago.” Pausing in peeling up a panel on the floor, Sideswipe offers a sheepish smile and Sunstreaker grunts with a shrug. It’s their way of saying their sorry, without actually taking back the prank as a whole. Bluestreak’s smile softens as he relaxes.

“It’s pretty amazing how you’ve managed to adapt human culture and resources into our own. I love that you’re doing all these harmless little pranks to make everyone happy. You make the Ark fun every day!” 

“B-Blue…” Sideswipe openly gawps at him, optics shimmering with unshed fluid, openly touched. On the other hand, Sunstreaker looks away, but Bluestreak can see the slight flush to the back of his audial fins that surely matches his faceplates.

Cute. They definitely aren’t used to heartfelt compliments.

“I really mean it! Like, every day would be the same monotonous, dull routine without your pranks. And who’d be there to make our officers seem less detached and more just like ordinary mechs? I don’t think you realise the massive importance your roles play in keeping the Ark together as one huge family. We love you so much.” 

“Oh, _Primus_ , Blue. You’re gonna make Sunny cry.”

“Sh- Shut up, Sides. Don’t c-call me Sunny…”

“Oh yeah, he’s crying.” A fierce punch knocks Sideswipe backwards from where he’s crouched on the floor, making a weird ‘GWERK’ sound combined with a yelp of surprise at the impact. He hits the floor on his back, and immediately kicks out to catch Sunstreaker’s shoulder.

“Did you. Just scuff. _My **Paintjob**_?!” Sensing the danger, Bluestreak shuffles away a little. Sideswipe, also sensing the danger, snickers and metaphorically wakes the sleeping bear.

“Maaaaybe~.” With a shout of rage, Sunstreaker throws himself at Sideswipe, the two descending into a playfight that looks a lot harsher than it actually is. They’ll come out of it with dents, scrapes, and maybe a couple of lacerations, but Bluestreak knows they won’t seriously kill each other.

Whilst they’re busy squabbling, Bluestreak moves to the floor panel and continues to remove it, eager to see exactly what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had planned.

Prowl had only asked him to guard the energon dispenser.  
He never said anything about not joining in.

It only takes half a groon for the prank to be set up. It would have been much quicker, but the twins tussle had lasted longer than either of them expected. With everything ready, all they have to do is wait for the morning shift to end and everyone to come to the common room…

“They’re going to be suspicious if they find you in here. Shouldn’t you two escape now and come in later? Prowl’s probably going to be first in to check with me that the energon dispenser hasn’t been messed with.”

“He won’t suspect anything if Sides just sits there, whining about you ‘ruining a grand and elaborate scheme’. Whilst polishing me, of course.”

“Whilst pol-?! … Yeah, alright, I owe you that.” And that was the sight that greeted Prowl when he entered the common room, narrowing his optics at the twins before softening when he noticed Bluestreak was still sat in front of the energon dispenser.

“Any trouble?”

“None at all~. I mean, asides from Sides scratching Sunny’s paint and then Sunny lunging at him and then the inevitable fight… But no one touched the energon dispenser!” Sideswipe gives a dramatic moan, as if he were dying.

“I’m sparkbroken, Prowler! Betrayed by my own best friend! My plans; thwarted! My prank; wasted! My vibes; ruined!”

“That’s _enough_ , Sideswipe.” The red frontliner cuts himself off with a snicker, returning to applying varnish to Sunstreaker’s back. Prowl glares at them suspiciously. Then, he moves to the energon dispenser.

“Whatever you’re planning to make up for this… I will find out.” He takes a cube, and moves over to the officers table, relaxing and waiting for others to join. Delighted, Sideswipe shoots a grin at Bluestreak, who flicks his wings in victory. Sunstreaker elbows Sideswipe roughly to alert him to others coming in. Bluestreak, catching on, moves to their table.

One mech is going to get a _delightful_ surprise.  
All it takes is stepping on that one panel…

As the common room fills and nobody sets off the prank - Bumblebee walked over it, but wasn’t heavy enough to set off the mechanism - Sunstreaker starts to get impatient. Someone should have set it off by now!

It’s then that he notices Jazz approaching. Jazz’s visor gives a little flash, no doubt having noticed the tiniest change to the flooring. He whips his head over to the twins. He grins.

Just as Sunstreaker stiffens, thinking they’re about to be ratted out, he feels Sideswipe’s elation over the split-spark bond. Jazz stroll to the energon dispenser, pouring out a cube for himself. Then, mysteriously, he pours out a second.

He moves as if he’s coming over to talk to Bluestreak and the troublemakers, but then pauses and looks over to the entrance.

“Hey, ‘Hide! O’er here! I gotchu a cube already. Thought we’d sit wi’h the mechlings today~.” The three mechlings mentioned freeze as Ironhide strolls over, none the wiser to the fact that Jazz - _pit-spawned Spec Ops_ \- was leading him into the very prank the mechlings had set up.

Comical fear floods the split-spark bond. Ironhide, being the main caretaker of the twins, is one of the only two they don’t _dare_ prank because they know he isn’t afraid to confine them to their quarters and _guard the door_.

Bluestreak giggles, watching Sunstreaker pinch his nasal ridge and Sideswipe go stock still, gripping his cube so tightly it dents. 

“A- Actually! We were just leaving! We- uh! Patrol!!!” Grinning, Jazz tilts a cube towards Sideswipe, and fragger that he is, brings up a flaw in Sideswipe’s escape strategy.

“You two ain’t on schedule ‘til this ‘noon~.” Nonetheless, as Ironhide steps closer, thanking Jazz for the cube, the twins get up to bolt. 

And then it happens.   
Ironhide steps on the panel. 

The opposite side to the part he stepped on springs upwards, like a see-saw, and Ironhide darts away like he’s expecting something to come flying at him from the flipping motion. Nothing does, and he loses all tension.

“Huh. Thought that mighta been one of yer pranks then, Sides. Looks like we just need ta fix the floor a bit.” Sideswipe’s aghast expression does not change as he and Sunstreaker slip from their seats in unison, ready to run.

Because the prank was not in the floorboards. Rather, that specific floor panel had acted as a lever. It had, in essence, set the ball in motion. 

Ironhide had made a mistake in jumping asides, as Sideswipe had planned for their unsuspecting target that he wished had been _literally anyone else_.

The ceiling plating above him opens.  
And a _**waterfall**_ of sticky, slimy goop dumps directly atop Ironhide. So much of it, in fact, that Ironhide crushes his cube in his hands with anger. 

“... _**Sideswipe. Sunstreaker.**_ ” Amazingly, the colour nanites have drained from the twins faceplates, leaving them - as Spike would say - pale as a ghost. Bluestreak giggles, moving to stand behind them and slinging an arm over their shoulders, pulling them in tight.

He gives them a playful, sweet kiss to the temples closest to him in quick succession, giggling again.

“It’s been real nice knowing you, but you are _so_ scrap~.” 

“Bluestreak, I know you had something to do with this! You were the only other one in the room!” At Prowl’s shout, an accusing finger pointed in his direction from the officers table, Bluestreak goes the same fearful pale as his best friends.

“... We should run.”

They jump over Jazz, who’s practically rolling on the floor with laughter, and race for the Ark entrance, Ironhide’s lecturing shouts and Prowl’s siren right on their bumpers.


	9. Back of the neck, ROMANTIC. Megatron and Starscream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet~!
> 
> And of course, it includes TC, though it isn't about him.  
> (He's my favourite, I have to.)

“- absolutely no way that plan will come to any fruition at all!!! I’m starting to think you _want_ us to lose this war, oh Mighty Megatron!” The biting sarcasm in Starscream’s tone is paired with his wings hiking up in superiority, arms crossed with a smug expression on his faceplates.

At the head of the meeting table, Megatron pushes back to the urge to rub the sides of his helm. This isn’t the first time dealing with Starscream has giving him a processor ache, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“And how, you flying fool, do you suppose this will ‘fail’? Unless you are hinting at your own incompetence!” 

“My own-?! This plan is doomed to fail even if every mech was to go above and beyond in following your orders! What you have planned out is not some grand attempt at winning the war, but a _suicide attempt_!!!!” Starscream’s pitch reaches audio-piercing levels, and he stands up violently enough to topple his chair over, slamming his hands down on the table with a resounding thud.

The war room goes silent.   
Fields of anticipation mingle with fields of hesitation, some wanting to see Starscream beaten for insubordination, and others not willing to be in the room when it happens.

As it is, Megatron notes that Starscream’s trinemates - who shouldn’t even _be_ in this meeting - are broadcasting mild fear. Skywarp has that haze over his optics that means he’s frantically calculating how many mechs to teleport to where. Thundercracker tugs at the bottom of Starscream’s wings, as if begging his trineleader to stand down.

“... Sit, Starscream.” Those white wings freeze in position, before giving a tiny tremble at the very tips. Starscream knows Megatron’s tones. And he knows this is one he dare not disobey.

“The rest of you. Leave.” A litany of grumbles paired with screeching chair legs marks how all but three of his soldiers obey him. Soundwave loyally remains in the corner, knowing Megatron will give him a second command if he wishes the TiC leave too.

The other two, Megatron can’t help but admire their bravery. Because months ago, he would have pointed his cannon at Thundercracker and Skywarp if they dared to show the slightest loyalty to Starscream over him.

Things have changed now. Instead, he is patient.

“No harm will come to him.” It’s enough to placate Skywarp, who slaps Starscream across the shoulders as if wishing him luck, but does nothing to ease Thundercracker. Rather, the blue seeker narrows his optics at Megatron a little more.

It’s understandable.   
_He’s_ the one who had to retrieve a beaten frame oh so many times, before Megatron and Starscream fixed their sparkbond issues.

Turns out, millions of years in stasis with no spark contact had pretty much driven them both partly insane. It was only through multiple spark merges that they had, a couple of months ago, completely healed over.

Before Megatron speaks again, Starscream smirks.

“Not any harm I won’t _like_ ~.” Skywarp cackles loudly as he flits out the room, so loudly that Thundercracker’s disappointed sigh goes unheard. 

“Call us if that changes.” His somewhat embarrassed mumble is met with a pulse of appreciation, Starscream momentarily leaning into the hesitant servo resting on his upper arm. It’s reassuring to know his trinemates have his back, although it’s entirely unnecessary in this situation.

“It won’t, but I’ll keep that in mind.” That’s enough for Thundercracker, who leaves with one last warning glance to Megatron. For some reason, Megatron feels slightly unsettled. Maybe because they’re his _family_ now, Starscream’s brothers by trinebond.

Once the door closes, Megatron scowls at his second in command.

“Really? ‘Nothing I won’t like’? You are aware they will now assume I’m fragging you into the desk, rather than discussing our war plan, calmly, as individuals, without interference.”

“Oh, I _know_ ~.” Starscream’s sultry purr only makes Megatron raise an optic ridge, and Soundwave bury his faceplates behind a single, weary servo. A beat of silence. Then, the two highest ranked Decepticons break into snickers without breaking optic contact.

“I’m going to have a difficult time convincing them I’m not a threat to you anymore.”

“An unfortunate side effect, yes, but I have my trust in you.” Starscream’s optics are soft as he gazes across the table at his leader - no, his _sparkmate_ , as Megatron is in this moment - and Megatron’s spark pulses with warmth and affection.

“Request; Focus on battle plans.” Just like that, Starscream snaps out of it. He scowls. Sitting up a little straighter, he challenges Megatron by jutting his chin out.

“Yes… About your _ridiculous_ proposition to use Menasor in that regard…” Megatron shoots Soundwave a quick glare for ruining the moment, but it’s only met by Soundwave giving an ‘innocent’ shrug, indicating he listen to Starscream.

And _Primus_ , does Starscream tear his plan to _**shreds**_.

By the end of Starscream’s rant and criticisms, Megatron has little more than step 1: Pick an energy source to target. And even _that’s_ subject to change!

“So, what other preposterous and slagged up suggestions do you have?”

“Nothing.”

“Because I’ll be willing to- … What?”

“Nothing, Starscream.” Sensing that the meeting has come to an end, Starscream slumps in his seat, shuttering his optics in surprise.

“... Oh. My apologies, Megatron. I suppose I got too carried away.”

“No, you brought up some solid points. I was too narrowed on our goal, not our method.”

“I’ll help you put together an _actual_ plan. Though, maybe another day.” Megatron checks his internal chronometer, noting the time with a grunt. He turns around to dismiss Soundwave with a casual hand gesture, letting the sounddeck slip from the room. He’s been kept longer than he would have liked.

With Soundwave gone, Megatron rises from his chair and offers a servo to Starscream. He finds a smaller seeker servo in his own, and gently tugs Starscream into him, resting another servo on Starscream’s lower back.

“I know it’s getting late. What do you say we leave this place?” Starscream grins, hint of a victorious smirk in a flash of his sharp denta.

“Walking me back to my room in the dead of night? My, my… I wonder how my trinemates will interpret that~.” A low chuckle slips from Megatron’s vocaliser.

“It wasn’t _your_ room I had in mind, my dear Starscream.” 

“How bold of you, Megatron.” Starscream leans in closer, his own servos sliding up Megatron’s chassis. They’re stopped by Megatron’s servos cupping them gently and lowering them back down.

“Not for _that_! It’s been too much business today for those sorts of activities. I only wish to hold you close.” The soft, almost sweet explanation, has Starscream feel like his spark is soaring and his wings tilt to reflect that flight mode.

“I- I would like that.” Megatron gives - Primus forbid! - a _smile_ to his sparkmate, keeping one of Starscream’s servos in his own as they head to his own quarters. It used to be bare, but more of Starscream’s personal effects have moved in since they’ve healed their spark bond.

The berth is larger too, a spare welded onto Megatron’s own to accommodate for Starscream’s wingspan. 

Starscream clambers onto the berth, settling himself curled up against the wall with his wings folded behind him, just enough space for Megatron to slide into. Megatron is careful not to place an elbow on the sensitive appendage. Lying on a Seekers wing was like lying on a bed of needles - the weight had to be distributed evenly or it would _hurt_.

“Good reflux, Starscream.” Gently, with more love in his spark than ever before, Megatron leans in and presses a loving, lingering kiss to the back of Starscream’s neck. Starscream purrs in contentment, melting into Megatron’s embrace.

Megatron is just about to drift off when he feels - rather than sees - Starscream smirk.

“It’s so _cute_ that you can recharge knowing my trinemates will hunt you down tomorrow, sweetspark~. Good reflux, Megatron~!” Bastard that he is, Starscream sniggers and activates his recharging protocols.

Megatron does not recharge that night.

(Megatron spends the next day ‘strategically avoiding’ Starscream’s trinemates, one pervertedly pestering him, the other furiously protective.)  
((Starscream cackles uproariously every time Megatron speedwalks past, trinemate hot on his heels.))


	10. Shoulder kiss, ROMANTIC. Spike, Carly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You gotta give a little love to the humans of the series. (^w^)  
> Just a little though.  
> 400 words worth.

It wasn’t often that Spike and Carly weren’t at the Ark, or on patrol with the Autobots. Tonight though, was special.

It was the eve of their first anniversary. They’d decided to spend the special day itself with their best friends on the Ark, but for now, it was just the two of them, enjoying time together. Spike lies on his back on the sofa, Carly draped over his front, his arm lazily wrapped around her waist just to rest there.

“As, uh, _informative_ as that forensics documentary was, I think I’m gonna pick a nice, goreless anime movie now.” Laughing, Carly presses her face into Spike’s chest - which she’s using as a pillow - affectionately snuggling closer.

“Wimp~. It was only a reconstruction!” 

“Just ‘cus it’s fake blood, doesn’t mean it doesn’t _look_ like blood. And hey, I’m squeamish!” He laughs at the amused expression of disbelief on Carly’s face, her chin resting on his collarbone.

“Ah yes, you, who have crawled _inside_ Skyfire to fix him, or patched together leaking energon lines, _and_ helped your Dad and Ratchet repair the Bots multiple times, are squeamish!~.” Sheepishly, Spike shrugs.

“It’s different. I’ve kinda, y’know, grown up working with mechanical stuff and fixing cars and stuff. I have _not_ grown up watching internals become externals.”

“Neither have I. But, I love that about you~.” Spike raises an eyebrow, cheekily grinning.

“You love that I haven’t grown up seeing people’s insides?” Carly swats Spike’s shoulder lightly as he laughs, jiggling her atop his stomach.

“No, you dork! I just love you, okay?!” Spike’s laughter fades into titters, and the soft eye contact between them wraps them both in a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“Love you too, Carly~.” She comfortably nestles her head on his collarbone again, and whilst Spike selects a movie for them to watch together like this, she twists to press a kiss to his shoulder, grateful he chose a tank top today.

It’s intimate and sensitive, and Spike moves his hand from her back to the back of her head to ruffle her hair affectionately before lowering it back down, and tugging the blanket draped over them a little higher.

As the opening credits to Anthem Of The Heart begin, Spike glaces down at his beautiful girlfriend, feeling his heart metaphorically swell in his chest.

“I love you so much.”


	11. Deep kiss on the lips, ROMANTIC. Thundercracker, Skywarp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a continuation of Day 4, but it's not necessary to read that first!  
> This is also my first TC-centric one! :D Love that blue boy.

368 floor panels. 122 wall panels, with a uneven trim. 367 ceiling panels, plus one vent in the corner furthest from him. 

And all the same _hideous_ shade of orange. The only break in all the orange was the electric blue of the energon bars keeping him imprisoned. Which, as he had counted, equaled 16 across his own cell, times by the 5 available cells, which meant…

“- You even listening? This is most serious, so if you would care to _listen_ -”

“80 bars in total.” Prowl, on the other side of those 16 active energon bars, sighs. He clips a stylus to a datapad in hand, weary and aggravated.

“You haven’t been listening to a single word I’ve said, have you, Thundercracker?” Decepticon lipplates twitch upwards in a manner that is somehow both mischievous and malicious.

“I’ve learnt to filter out nonsense.” Blue optics narrow at him, flaring a darker shade with irritation.

“This is a matter of your imprisonment, Decepticon, so you would do well to-” A clenched fist impacts into the wall behind Thundercracker, with such strength that it dents the wall panel - (Number 64, as he’s labelled it) - and Prowl shutters his optics at the unexpected aggression.

Usually, there was warning when one was about to act out, especially if they’d been _placid_ beforehand.

“To what? Heed your every command? Graciously accept being condemned to a skyless cell? Listen to an _advocate_ of the faction that _**razed**_ my home and murdered my people?” Thundercracker stands, expression like a thundercloud, and his sneer of hatred flashes sharp fangs that only Seeker denta possess.

“You have taken my wings, but you will never take my pride.” Prowl’s doorwings tuck behind his back at the accusation, optics flickering to the torn shreds of Thundercracker’s wings.

They’d been too damaged for young, inexperienced First Aid to treat, and Ratchet was currently occupied with a patient in critical condition.

“Your wings will be restored once Prime has sealed a deal for your release-” There’s a roar of rage, and Prowl barely has time to step back to avoid the aim stretching for him through the energon bars, Seeker claws leaving a small scratch on his left cheekplate.

There’s the stench of burning metal and hiss of paint bubbling, before the arm is pulled back. Thundercracker does not cradle it to his cockpit as other Decepticons who had tried the same do. He does not hiss in pain, or growl, or spit curses.

He _glares_. And somehow, that unnerves Prowl more than anything else their prisoner could have done.

“... Optimus will speak to you later. You’ll be offered a cube for cooperation.” Thundercracker doesn’t move. His red optics burn into Prowl with just as much intensity and hostility. The second in command is well aware that if it weren’t for the energon bars, he’d be a dead mech by now.

Probably torn to slithers, like those damaged wings that Thundercracker held low.  
It was the only vulnerability he’d shown since capture.

Before Prowl exits, his servo hovers above the door mechanism. His back is to the cells, but he can sense the prisoner stand down and move back to the wall, sliding down it to sit where he had before. Prowl’s doorwings twitch, and he hesitates.

But, there’s something he needs to ask.

“Thundercracker.” Stillness. It’s not an acknowledgment, but there’s space to continue speaking.

“You… On the battlefield. You tried to… To _comfort_ Bluestreak.” A tense silence. Prowl turns to face Thundercracker, trying to gage his reaction as red optics watch him carefully. They’re a little less hate-filled than before, and his posture indicates neutrality towards the statement. 

Taking a slow invent, Prowl drops his air of professionalism, speaking not as an officer, but as Bluestreak’s brother.

“ _Why_?” There’s a long silence. Accepting that he isn’t going to get an answer, Prowl turns to leave. He catches the closing door at a deep voice.

“No mechling should have to grieve for one younger than them ever again.” There’s a tone of sorrow in Thundercracker’s vocaliser, and Prowl knows there’s so much more behind it than what happened with Bluestreak. 

The door closes, leaving the brig in near-darkness once more, the golden slither of light from outside corridors swallowed by the shadows. Thundercracker pulls himself in tighter, arms around his legs with his knees pulled up to cover his cockpit.

His destroyed wings brush against the wall behind him and shudders at the feedback of pain. First Aid had given him a pain patch, but Thundercracker had stubbornly refused to have his sensors cut off completely.

A Decepticon did not _shy away_ from pain.  
They proved strength by surviving it.

Scowling, Thundercracker looked to the corner where he _knew_ a camera was set up, the tiny area where a screw should go just a little too reflective to be anything but a lens. The shiny black circle shrinks, a ring of white around it, then grows again. It’s focusing on him. And most likely, it has audio recording too.

“You think you’re so noble. You think you’re always _right_ , and _just_.” He smirks, making sure his shredded wings are in full view of the camera.

“How powerful you must feel to have caged a Seeker, buried me underground, and denied me fuel. Truly, that sounds like something the ‘good’ side would do, doesn’t it?” His smirk darkens into a tight frown. His optics reflect off his own blue plating as he looks at his knees.

“My trinemates will come for me. And then _I_ will come for _you_.” He lets the threat hang in the air, before activating a light recharge cycle. It’s the best he can do for his self repair system right now.

But even that can’t fix his wings.  
He’ll need special parts for that. Parts that only another Seeker would have. Starscream keeps a stash in his lab for incidents like these, but to get repairs, Thundercracker first needs to get _there_.

His recharge cycle grinds to an immediate halt when the door to the brig opens once more. He hears a quiet conversation, that between a guard posted outside, and the leader of the Autobots himself. Optimus Prime.

“- shall call you if there’s any problems. Thank you for your offer though, Trailbreaker.” The brig door closes again, but this time, there’s heavy footsteps in the darkness. Only the glow of the energon bars gives a small, glowing light into the room.

Optimus steps into that light, and loathe as Thundercracker is to admit, the lighting and the difference in stature makes the Prime look like he was chosen by _Primus_.

Probably true, but not that he cares.

“Good evening, Thundercracker.” He pauses, probably waiting for a reply, and simply because he can see the very faint pink of an energon cube in one of Prime’s hands, Thundercracker decides to humour him.

“For you, perhaps. Though from here, I can’t see the solar positioning.”

“And I apologise for that, but you _are_ dangerous, and the security of my soldiers is my priority.” Lip plates twitching up in a small smirk at Optimus Prime’s admission, Thundercracker moves to stretch one leg out, looking less balled up.

“I appreciate the honesty.” Optimus seems pleased by the response, unknowing that Thundercracker is only humouring him, only waiting for something to happen. With a simple code, Optimus disables one of the bars just enough to slide the cube into the cell, before activating the bar again.

“You must be low on fuel.”

“How do I know it isn’t poisoned?” Blue optics shutter with surprise. For a moment, Thundercracker wonders if the Autobots really _are_ so naive that they wouldn’t have even considered it. Or, could it be that he’s caught on?

“Pois-... No, no, it’s- Is that what Megatron would do?”

“Megatron, no. Vortex, yes.”

“... I see. And… You believe this cube could be poisoned?”

“It would be _stupid_ not to suspect. I understand many of your soldiers, particularly your frontliners-” He tilts his heel to show the thick, heavy welding scars around his thrusters, lifting his wings so Optimus can see the full extent of their tatters.

“- are not too fond of me. Your Autobots are not as innocent and harmless as you think. They would happily deactivate a captive prisoner, if it would give them the upper hand.” Optimus winces. Not just at the sight of the injuries, but at the conviction in Thundercracker’s words. He truly believes what he’s saying.

“Thundercracker, no one would-”

“They would. They _absolutely_ would. After all, if Autobots can destroy a neutral city and _murder_ the innocent civilians in it, _**hunting**_ down youngling that Creators sacrficed themselves for, what is to say they won’t kill just one more Seeker?”

“... Vos?” Thundercracker nods. There’s a sinking feeling in Optimus’s fuel tank, twisting and clenching like he’s going to purge. He had known, from consulting with the Matrix, that something had happened in Vos that Sentinel Prime wasn’t honest about.

“I… I hadn’t known… The archives state that-”

“The archives _written by Autobots_? Of course they covered up their crimes. It’s how they drew in younger soldiers, appearing noble, fair, and holier than thou. A handful of Seekers had joined the revolution, yes, but not enough to condemn the whole city as a ‘Decepticon settlement’.” A pause, where Thundercracker waits for Prime to show the slightest sign of being uneasy. A shuffle. Perfect.

“Did you know they struck the nurseries and daycares first?” Prime visibly balks, stepping back from the bars. Moving to stand on his pedes, despite the pain in his thrusters, Thundercracker holds his wings high and his head higher.

“Vos was a caretaker city. Neighbouring provinces and cities brought their younglings to our centres, and Sentinel’s forces struck without warning. How would your current army feel, knowing they wear the insignia of _child murderers_. Of how Seeker corpses mixed with Praxian, Polyhexian… And those from Kalis.”

“Kalis…?”

“Survivors that Vos took in. We were neutral, before Sentinel Prime. It was his raid that convinced the remaining Seekers to join the Decepticons. For safety, for protection. Or, as in my trine’s case, for _revenge_.” 

“I understand. But the Decepticon cause-”

“Is not my concern. I care not for their cause. Only that every Autobot who dares to take pride in their faction is offlined by guns and claws.” For a moment, there’s silence. Thundercracker takes the cube from the floor, tilting it slowly as he holds it close to the energon bars.

The pink radiates warmly, a softer and slightly darker shade than the cubes the Decepticons collect. It’s proof that it’s mid-grade, rather than the low-grade he’s used to. Small granules in the bottom gather in a corner as he tilts it, and he scowls at it.

“Supplements. First Aid recommended them.” Chucking the cube to the floor, Thundercracker returns to the wall, not sitting this time but leaning against it. The coldness of the underground metal soothes the twisted ribbons of his wings.

“It doesn’t matter who recommended them.”

“It’s a matter of malnutrition.”

“It’s a matter of covering up poison.” Optimus sighs, shoulder slumping as he rubs at his faceplates with a single servo. Whilst he’s not looking, Thundercracker allows himself a quick smirk. He’s always been stubborn, but watching his stubbornness wear down _Optimus Prime_ is incredibly amusing.

A good way to pass the time, for sure.

“It’s _not_ poisoned. You have my word.”

“Ah, yes. The word of a Prime. That means _so_ much to me.” Thundercracker’s sarcasm isn’t as snippy or whiney as Starscream’s, but it’s deeper. It’s more effective, as proved by how lost Optimus looks. Perhaps other Decepticons have been persuaded by that before.

“Thundercracker-” An enormous explosion causes the brig to quake, almost knocking the Prime off his pedes, whilst Thundercracker leans against the wall a little heavier. He grins, smug and self-satisfied.

“If you’re quite finished, I do believe I’ve stalled long enough.” There’s just enough time for his words to sink in, Optimus Prime’s faceplates flashing in recognition and his field dawning anger, before the brig wall is _melted_ through. 

“About time.” 

“About time?! _About time_!? You insolent aft, I had to build an entire _**weapon**_ to get you out of here!” Never before has Thundercracker been so relieved to hear Starscream screech and complain. 

“C’mon, TC!” And that’s a voice that makes his spark soar. He can’t help the smile that grows as steam clears to reveal Skywarp standing just behind his trineleader. 

They came for him, just like he said they would.  
But then, he’d always known.  
Skywarp had told him _everything_ over their sparkbond.

“Say ‘goodnight’, Optimus Prime!” Starscream aims the weapon again, taking the shot whilst Skywarp teleports in, grabs Thundercracker around the waist, and teleports out. The outside of the Ark is a welcome relief to Thundercracker, who spreads the tatters of his wings as far as he can to feel the breeze against them.

The distinctive sounds of battle a short distance way indicates Starscream had amassed a few volunteers for this mission, and they were distracting the main Autobot forces at the Ark entrance.

Starscream comes running around the corner, servo slightly singed. 

“Go! That damned forcefield Autobot got to Prime before I did!” Which meant Optimus Prime was right on their vertical stabilizers. 

“Going~!” Skywarp grabs Starscream by the elbow, keeping on arm wrapped around Thundercracker’s waist, and teleports them as far away as he can. Far enough that they can take a moment to evaluate the situation. 

Before that though, Thundercracker grabs Skywarp’s face by the cheeks, pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss. It’s a ‘thank you for coming for me’, an ‘I love you’, and a ‘frag you were hot back there’ kiss all at the same time. Skywarp responds eagerly, grinning into the kiss as it seems to go on forever.

“Urgh, gross! Why can’t you two keep your glossa to yourselves until we get back- _Primus_ , Thundercracker! What happened to you _**wings?!**_ ” Thundercracker grunts in protest as Skywarp pulls away, leaning over his shoulder to glance at the wings Starscream screams about.

“... Oh, that’s bad. You gonna be able to fly outta here?” The sparkbond sings its comfort and sorrow from Skywarp’s side, and Thundercracker sighs as he sends back a soft affirmation that he’ll live.

“Not without help.” Starscream tuts, rolling his optics, but he loops his arm around one of Thundercracker’s anyways.

“You idiots are always making more work for me.” Laughing, Skywarp takes up Thundercracker’s other side. They activate their thrusters and take off gently, making sure not to aggravate Thundercracker’s wounds.

“You love us though, ‘Screamer!”

“I do _not_!”

“You doooo!”

“Not!”

“We’re trine, you totally love us!”

“I-!”

“ _Enough_ ~. You can continue this once we’re back in our quarters.” Thundercracker’s interruption brings their teaing argument to an end, but there’s still joy in the trinebond, alongside Skywarp’s happiness through the sparkbond. 

Starscream can’t feel that, of course, but he had no qualms. He’d been the one to encourage them together, after all.

_“Frag Megatron’s rules, if you two idiots are in love, just go for it. Watching you pine relentlessly is agonising!”_

And so they’d bonded. Much to Starscream’s delight, it stopped them pining. Much to Starscream’s horror, it meant he was kicked out of their quarters quite often.

“I’m gonna frag you _so_ hard when we get back~.” Thundercracker raises an optic ridge suggestively, sparkbond singing his agreement, before Starscream interrupts.

“No, you will not, Skywarp! Thundercracker is going _straight_ to my lab when we get back!” Red optics flash in understanding. 

“Well, duh. Once he’s fixed, obviously.” Starscream scoffs and rolls his optics again. 

“... I have third shift in the communications tower.” A handy hint that their quarters will be empty then, and Skywarp lets out a whoop for glee as Thundercracker snickers. 

“Thanks, Starscream.” 

“Just no more _kissing_ in front of me! Honestly, it’s disgusting, and I’m starting to wonder why I ever trined with you gross mechanisms- Skywarp, stop!” The burst of cheekiness over the trinebond is followed by Skywarp enthusiastically smashing his faceplate against Thundercracker’s, drawing him in for another deep, passionate kiss. 

Not that Thundercracker complains. (Starscream does).  
He earned this, after getting slagged in battle, trapped in the Autobot’s brig, and burning his arm. 

There’s no love more victorious than jailbreak love. 


	12. Kiss on the knuckles, PLATONIC. Hound, Mirage.

Mirage missed the noble life.

He missed his home in the Towers, the fine dining, the comfortable furniture, the strict routine and the elegance _everything_ was done with.

True, he loved it here on the Ark with all his friends - friends he wouldn’t have been allowed to even meet back in the Towers - but the years dragged on and life got harder and Mirage wondered, if not for the first time, how much convincing it would take to _at least_ get comfortable berths.

But most of all, he missed the parties.

The Ark still had parties, of course it did! But they were _commoner_ parties, with loud, thumping music and mechs stumbling around full of high-grade, flailing to the music as if that could _ever_ be considered dancing.

It just didn’t have the regality that Mirage was used to. That he _enjoyed._

“Hey, ‘Raj!” He shutters his optics, realising he’s been blankly staring at a wall too long, and looks over his shoulder to see Cliffjumper strolling up to him. With a placid smile, he turns to face him.

“Cliffjumper. How can I help you?” 

“You can get yer aft to the common room! C’mon!” Mirage doesn’t have time to decline before Cliffjumper grabs his wrist and _drags_ him down the hallways.

“H-Hey, hold on- Cliffjumper, what-?” His protests are completely ignored. Cliffjumper skids to a stop outside the common room, and for some reason, the doors don’t open automatically. Mirage raises an optic ridge.

“Did Sideswipe program you out of the Ark’s coding again?” 

“No! Just walk in, you dolt!” If it weren’t for the huge grin on Cliffjumper’s faceplates, Mirage would have thought he was about to get pranked. With a sigh, he steps into range, and the doors whoosh open.

Almost instantly, Mirage feels like he’s about to cry.

“This is…” The entire common room has been redecorated. Paint that isn’t entirely dry covers the walls and ceilings in a recreation of Cybertron’s sky, and the skyline of the Towers. Cardboard cut outs of familiar buildings are stuck in the correct places along the walls.

The chairs and tables have been moved from their places, now lined along the sides of the room like banquet tables, plates of energon goodies and other treats stacked on them. Synthetic gems glisten from where they’ve been lined up on any available surface, and there’s even a fake chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

And there’s _music_. 

Not the type that shakes plating, or has mechs dancing like lunatics, but the kind he’s familiar with. Cybertronian orchestral music, the backbone of every Tower’s party. The dancing going on - by many mechs he wouldn’t have expected! - is slow and elegant, regal in every way. Well, it would be, if they had a couple of vorns training.

“This is _incredible_. It looks just like home.” Cliffjumper laughs, clapping him on the back.

“You looked like you needed cheering up, and Hound guessed you were homesick. Don’t expect _me_ to act all posh though! I’m just here for the goodies~.” Cliffjumper slinks off, and from somewhere near the table, Mirage hears the distinctive sound of a wrench hitting a helm followed by Ratchet’s _“You’ve had quite enough, I didn’t spend all day making those just for you to-!”_

“Care to dance?” Mirage doesn’t hear the rest of Ratchet’s rant, instead shuttering his optics and then breaking out into a smile. Then a chuckle. And finally, a warm laugh.

“Hound, what _are_ you wearing?” Sheepishly, Hound rubs at the back of his helm. 

“Well, I think I made a mistake in asking the rest of Spec Ops what to wear…” Mirage glances over to where Jazz, Bluestreak, and Bumblebee stand near the band, Jazz tapping a pede to the refined music, Bluestreak and Bumblebee talking between themselves with servos full of sweet treats.

As soon as they feel him looking, all three grin at him, brindled with mischief. Mirage raises an optic ridge with a soft smile, subtly telling them off for dressing Hound up like this.

“So, who recommended the cape, who put a spoiler on your back, and who _in the pit_ covered you in glitter?” Hound looks over himself, colour flushing his cheekplates, though his field still radiates warmth and mirth.

“I think they all came up with it together. Honestly, I kind of suspected something, but I wanted this to be perfect for you…” Mirage reaches up to unclasp the cape, taking it from Hound’s shoulders and throwing it towards their best friends. It lands draped over Bumblebee, making Jazz and Bluestreak laugh.

Bumblebee just lets it stay, apparently happy to spend the rest of the evening with a cape over his head.

The spoiler goes too, carefully set aside. Unfortunately, there's no way to remove the glitter without hitting the racks.

“Still offering that dance?” Hound grins, bowing low at the waist and offering one servo out for Mirage. With a half-smirk on his face, Mirage places his own atop it, and lips brush over his knuckles faintly, as is Tower’s custom.

As a new song starts, Mirage steps into Hound, an arm around his waist from behind, and they begin to dance slowly, all the proper steps and motions, swaying as if they were branches in a light breeze. Hound might have two left feet, but Mirage wasn’t bothered.

It was still his old customs. The traditions he’d grown up with. The home he missed.

“Thank you, Hound.”

“Don’t thank me! Everyone here noticed you were a little upset lately, so we all wanted to do something for you. I just happened to figure out what was getting you down. There’s no way I could have done this alone!”

“Who…?” Mirage looks around, taking in the sight of everyone aboard the Ark - even Red Alert! - taking time off to be here, just enjoying this tiny taste of nobility. Most of them are as bad as Hound at dancing, but it’s all merriment and good cheer, without shattering the calm atmosphere.

“Sunstreaker painted the walls, with Cosmos and Skyfire helping with the star placement, Ratchet, Sideswipe, and Wheeljack made the goodies, Perceptor, Prowl, Bluestreak and Smokey worked on the crystals, Jazz and Prime sorted out the music, Ironhide and Inferno moved all the tables, and Bumblebee led the minibots in recreating the buildings!”

“That’s… It’s…” Touched, Mirage shutters his optics to avoid them leaking, feeling his spark radiating warmth in his chest. For a brief moment, he allows his field to flare out, filling the room with gratitude that he doesn’t have the words for, and a comfort that no words can explain.

He doesn’t feel so homesick when he’s surrounded by a family that brings home to him.


	13. Small of the back kiss, ROMANTIC. Hoist, Grapple.

When Grapple got an idea in his head, he didn’t let it go. When he had an architectural _design_ in mind, there was no letting it rest. His creativity and determination was matched only by his stubbornness.

“Grapple, dear, _maybe_ this could wait until daylight?”

“Why, it absolutely cannot! This is going to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever built! It’ll be extraordinary, a work of art, a true vision!”

“Sweetspark, it’s 4 in the morning. Please come back to the berth.” Hoist steps in, placing a patient servo on one of Grapple’s wrists as the architect scrambles to amass his tools, blueprint datapad, and stylus. Grapple pauses, looking at him with slight hurt.

“But- But, Hoist, this is-... I simply _must_ get started immediately. Please, my love?” There’s an innocence in his pleading gaze, and Hoist sighs, knowing he’s lost the battle before it’s even begun. With a small smile, he pats his sparkmate encouragingly.

“Just the sketch for now. Then you come _back_ to the berth.” The way Grapple lights up, all passion and enthusiasm, just makes Hoist fall in love with him a little more. The feeling is obvious mutual, swathes of adoration lapping at him like the ocean hugs the shore.

Knowing full well that Grapple probably keep working until his new, grand idea has been modelled, Hoist tiredly drags himself back to their shared berthroom, winding down into a mock recharge.

It’s enough to let him rest, but slight enough that he can still lovingly listen into Grapple’s muttering, designing a wonderful structure and forgetting that he’s speaking aloud. That doesn’t bother Hoist. Rather, he prefers it. Listening to Grapple quietly contemplate a project that he’s fascinated with and passionate about is a _wonderful_ thing.

At some point, Hoist drifts off for real, but not before his chronometer tells him that it’s nearing sunrise. 

He awakes not the sound of his internal alarm, but to a touch. Digits brushing lightly, lovingly, over his shoulder struts and back. Then, a soft kiss, right to the small of his back. Onlining his optics, Hoist rolls onto his side, lifting an arm up to welcome Grapple into proximity.

With an expression of adoration, Grapple lies down next to him, hugging Hoist close and pulling his helm against his shoulder.

“I apologise for taking so long, darling, but my artistic vision could have dwindled if I let it rest.”

“I understand, sweetspark~. Now can we _please_ get some recharge? I have second shift in the Medbay, and Primus knows Thursdays are - for some baffling reason - full of maintenance issues!” Laughing softly, Grapple rests servo over Hoist’s back, where he had so lovingly kissed him before, rubbing his thumb digit in a soothing servo.

“Of course~. Sweet reflux, Hoist. I love you dearly.”

“Love you too, Grapple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short! I've had very little time to write. 
> 
> Personal headcanon: Hoist and Grapple are absolutely That™ Couple™. The ones with the sickeningly sweet nicknames, constantly around each other, and perfectly in love.


	14. Wrist Kiss, ROMANTIC. Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Sideswipe.

Cybertron did not have Valentines Day.

A celebration of love on Cybertronian was a personal affair, not one commercialised and slathered in pinks and reds, with traditional cut-from-the-same-cloth gifts. 

It wasn’t on a particular day, either. Those in love simply picked presented each other with a gift that had significance to _them_ alone, something meaningful that would stand the tests of time, on a day that was special to them.

So when Spike and Carly had explained Valentine’s Day to the Autobots, Bluestreak had decided to take the opportunity to do something he _never_ would have had the courage to do otherwise.

“Don’t be nervous, don’t be nervous… Oh Pit, I’m so nervous!” Wringing his servos, Bluestreak paces back and forth in his room, talking frantically to himself and nibbling his bottom lipplate. He takes in a deep vent and stops to look in the mirror in his room.

His plating absolutely _shines_ , polished to perfection with a hint of paranoia. He wanted everything to be perfect.

“It’s not that big a deal, right, it’s just- Just the entire rest of my life affected by this one moment, and oh _Primus_ , this is a huge deal, this is a big deal, I’m freaking out!!!” 

“Blue?” He jumps with a yelp, spinning round to see whoever is in his doorway. It’s a rather bad habit of his to leave the door open, unless he’s doing something private. He laughs sheepishly at the raised optic look from Prowl.

“H-Hey, Prowl! It’s, uh… Fancy seeing you here! Long time no see…?” Prowl’s expression grows more suspicious, but in a fond way. Like he knows his baby brother is about to commit to a big secret, something that’s been on his processor for a while.

Pushing off the doorframe, Prowl walks over to him and gestures for Bluestreak to turn around. He does, and Prowl pulls a thin wire from his subspace. Doorwing struts are infamously hard to clean.

“Prowl, I-”

“Shh. It’s quite clear, both from your appearance and nervousness, that you’re attempting to catch someone’s optics. From the brand of polish you’ve used, I think I can take a guess at which someone that is.” He pauses, before flashing Bluestreak a rare smirk in the mirror.

“Or two someone’s, I bet~.”

“P- _Prowl!!!_ ” The stoic second in command gives a small laugh as his brother’s faceplates flush a deep crimson, not letting the conversation distract him from removing the tiniest amounts of dust and sand from Bluestreak’s doorwing struts.

“No need to worry. I approve.” Bluestreak twists around, surprised.

“You- What?! You approve? Seriously? I mean, they cause so much trouble for you, and I know sometimes you get super stressed, and you keep saying they’re a bad influence and-”

“Blue.” He cuts off his rambling, stunned into silence by the soft, warm smile Prowl is giving him.

“They make you happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

“You are the _best_ big brother ever.”

“Don’t let Smokescreen hear you say that.”

“Smokey’s the best big brother to you! So you get to be the best big brother to me! That way it kinda balances things out and we all get to be the ‘favourite’ of someone else, so there’s no arguments or-”

“ _Blue_.” Affectionately, Prowl squeezes Bluestreak’s shoulder and then pats his back encouragingly. He puts away the wire, satisfied with the finicky cleaning he’s done.

“The twins are in the common room. I think Sparkplug put together a ‘Valentines party’ to surprise Spike and Carly with.” 

“C-Cool! I’m gonna. Just. Uh. Go?” Despite his jumbled stutters, Bluestreak doesn’t move from the spot, standing rigidly still and forcing out a nervous laugh when Prowl tilts his helm with a questioning smile.

“Iiiiii’m not moving, am I?”

“No, you are not.”

“I want to! I really want to! And Valentine’s day sounds perfect, but oh Primus, what if I make a fool of myself? What if they reject me? What if they decide I’m a total creep and don’t want to be _friends_ anymore!I- I can deal with rejection, but I don’t want to lose them forever!” His nervous laugh breaks into a choked back sob. The thought of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker not wanting to be near him _at all_ is so spark-breaking, he almost completely backs out of his planned confession.

“You and I both know they aren’t like that. Even if they don’t feel the same way, they won’t abandon you. They love you as friends first, and anything else after.” _That_ piques Bluestreak’s interest.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘anything else’? Prowl?” Without saying anything, and an expression like he’s said too much, Prowl stiffly turns on heel and speedwalks out of Bluestreak’s room. Doorwings fluttering with excitement and grinning as he forgets his nervousness, Bluestreak darts after him to pester him.

Prowl, as is typical, remains tight-lipped.

“Just a little clue? Just a liiiiittle? Please, Prowl? Pretty please? I’ll never ask you for anything ever again!” 

“Funny, I recall you saying that when you asked me to swap your rack cleaning duty with Gear’s brig guard duty.”

“Gears will complain no matter what he’s doing, but I will absolutely snipe you through the vents if you put me on cleaning duty ever again. The public racks are _disgusting_ at the end of the day.” Prowl flicks at Bluestreak’s forehelm, before standing to attention just before the doors open.

He’s not too keen on letting the rest of the Autobots know he has a soft spot. It’ll ruin his reputation as a disciplinary!

The common room has been _completely_ rehauled. There’s pink and red and roses and hearts and teddies everywhere and it’s disgustingly _gaudy_. Tacky. Cheap.

Bluestreak instantly adores it.

“Wow, it’s so romantic! Look at how vibrant the colours are! Look at the cute teddies, and the adorable heart bunting! And the _heart-shaped cog cake_!!! Oh wow, oh wow! This is incredible!”

“Not as incredible as that shine. Polish and a wax. Carnauba, of course.” Bluestreak instantly forgets everything he’s about to gush about when he hears that voice full of praise. Prowl gives him a subtle nudge as he passes, jolting Bluestreak back to reality.

“U-Uh, yeah! I think it’s the one you gave me for Christmas? I tried to put it on evenly, but it was _really_ hard to get my back, and I don’t think the cloth was the right material, so I was kinda panicking because, like, what if it was all streaky and messy and-”

“It looks great, Blue.” Sunstreaker smirks with a hint of cheekiness, lowering his voice.

“Who knows, I might have to get you to help me wax up someday.” Cheekplates going red, Bluestreak starts to fluster and stutter, making the vocal equivalent of a keyboard smash mixed with garbled static. A good-natured laugh from behind is all the warning he gets before a red arm slings over his right shoulder, Sideswipe leaning against his side.

“You would _never_ , Sunny!”

“Don’t call me Sunny.”

“You don’t even let _me_ do your wax!” Sunstreaker scowls, kicking his pede out to tap at Sideswipe’s leg.

“Because last time, you bleached the colour nanites in it. I was _banana yellow_ for three orns!”

“Oh, please, you already are.”

“Excuse you, I am tuscan sun shaded, you pit-spawned son of a glitch!”

“We have the same creator!!!”

“Would you like the same court-mech too?!” Bluestreak interrupts the playful bickering, unable to stop himself blurting out the question that’s been plaguing him since… Well, a long enough time he can’t remember the exact moment he realised he loved the twins! They stare at him with matching expressions, mouths open and flushed cheekplates.

“Or-... Or not, I guess, it’s okay, if- if you wanna just stay friends, but I, uh, I like you I like you a- a lot… A lot.” He trails off with a wince, shuffling awkwardly the longer they say nothing. Suddenly, Sideswipe bursts into a grin.

“I thought you’d never ask!” With a contemplative hum, Sunstreaker nods.

“We’ve known - and wanted this - for a long time, but we were waiting until you were ready.”

“... _You **knew?!?!**_ ” 

“Oh yeah, it was pretty obvious.”

“Blue, we’d have to be _blind_ not to.” Bluestreak covers his faceplates with his servos, muffling his comical, monotonous ‘aaaaaahhhh’ of pure embarrassment. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe laugh in unison, before Bluestreak feels his servos being tugged away from his face.

His cheekplates are still the same red as most of the Valentines decorations when he allows the twins to pull a servo away each. Sideswipe grins as Sunstreaker gently brushes his thumb digit over Bluestreak’s palm. They’re split-sparks, yes, but different in so many way.

And Bluestreak loved that about them. Loved them as they were, together and as individuals. 

“So, can we court you~?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Just let us know if we get carried away. We’ve been waiting for this to become more than friendship for a pit-long time.” Bluestreak nods, feeling his pulsing spark begin to calm from where it’s been beating too hard in his chamber, fluttering around like the very first day he realised he loved the twins.

In unison, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker pull a servo each towards themselves, and press a kiss to the wrist - Sunstreaker on the outside, above the back of the servo like a gentlemech, and Sideswipe on the inner wrist, playfully adding a wink.

That’s all it takes for them to be officially courting, and as they smile at him with optics full of love, soft fields, and radiant adoration, Bluestreak grins, wide and victorious.

“Happy Valentine’s day to us three, right~?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines, Happy Pal-entines, Happy Gal-entines!!! :D  
> However you chose to celebrate, let's take a moment to remember everyone we've loved before, and everyone we'll love yet to come!   
> For as long as the world still turns, there will always be love, in relationships, in families, in friendships, and in objects of interest.
> 
> No matter who or what you love, and in what way, today is your day!


	15. On a scar, PARENTAL. Ratchet, Sunstreaker.

_**“Sunstreaker!!!”**_

Ratchet will never forget that hollow, primal scream from Sideswipe. How lost he sounded calling for his brother, how terrified his field felt as he momentarily lost control of it, watching his brother blaze through the sky like a golden flame, falling from such a great height that it probably would have killed him if he hit the ground.

What saved Sunstreaker’s life was the fact that the Seeker he was pulling down with him was none other than Skywarp, who regained just enough consciousness to activate a warp drive bringing them much closer to Earth.

Close enough, that both had survived the crash.  
Thought not without extensive damage.

Ratchet and Sideswipe had raced through the dust cloud that had been kicked up on impact, heading straight into the center of what was now a crater. Sideswipe had skidded onto his knees at Sunstreaker’s sides. Ratchet had ran straight into someone else, someone who was here not for Sunstreaker, but for Skywarp.

“You take yours, we’ll take ours.” He never expected Starscream to sound so genuinely panicked, but by the sound of Thundercracker’s keen where the two have fallen, Ratchet can only guess that it’s _bad_.

“If you need a medic…” Starscream narrows his ruby red optics, but a soft call of ‘Star’ draws his attention and he moves to both comfort Thundercracker and take comfort himself. Skywarp and Sunstreaker had fallen together, only an arms length away.

As the dust settled, it was clear they were both as critical as each other. Starscream sucks in a harsh invent, helping to scoop his unconscious trinemate into Thundercracker’s arms without jostling him too much.

“I’ll bear your offer in mind, Medic.” The lack of insult as the seekers take off only convinces Ratchet that he’ll have to do some sneaking off base later to a hopefully neutral location, but right now, the priority is Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe holds him close, audial pressed to Sunstreaker’s spark chamber and rocking slightly as he gasps for air like he needs it to breathe. Optic fluid stains his cheekplates and continues to silently drip as he clings desperately to his twin.

“Sides… Sideswipe, sweetspark, I need you to let me see him okay? I need you to release your grip, yeah? Come one, Sides, I promise you, it’ll help if I can see the damage.” Clearly distressed, Sideswipe takes in a shuddering breath, his optics near-white as they fix on Ratchet, but it’s almost like he’s looking _through_ him.

“Sideswipe, you have to let him go… It’s going to be okay… Let me see him, please…”

“R-Ratchet…” It’s more static than a word, but it’s something. It’s Sideswipe acknowledging that Ratchet is there, that there’s more than just him and Sunstreaker. Venting in relief that Sideswipe is beginning to ground himself, Ratchet gives his shoulder a supportive squeeze.

“Lie him down, please. You can hold his servo the entire time, but I need to see the full damage. Can you do that, Sideswipe? Are you with me?” 

“I-... Y-yeah.” Whispering gentle encouragement because of how _shaken_ Sideswipe is, Ratchet manages to get him to back off enough to get a good look at Sunstreaker. It’s really bad. Not as bad as others have been before, but enough that he needs medbay, and he needs medbay _**now**_.

“We need to get him back. Load him up. You can stay with him, okay?” Transforming, Ratchet opens up the ambulance doors, backed up as close to Sunstreaker as he can get. It takes Sideswipe an astrosecond to catch on, but then he nods with a disturbingly quiet sound of affirmation.

Carefully and slowly, still shocked and reeling from his twins pain over the split-spark bond, Sideswipe lays Sunstreaker on the Cybertronian sized medi-berth that Ratchet can change the size of using mass displacement - useful for when human allies needed help.

“Hop in.” Not needing much encouragement at all, Sideswipe crouches inside, both his servos clasped desperately around one of Sunstreaker’s own, holding it to his forehelm. Belatedly, Ratchet realises he’s whispering something, so quiet that he has to turn his audials up to full gain.

“ - Primus, please… I’ll be good… I’ll never prank again, I’ll be quiet, I’ll- I’ll do _anything_... Just… Don’t take Sunny… _Please_ , Primus, don’t take my brother…” It’s Sparkbreaking. The sheer _despair_ in Sideswipe’s voice, and the promises he’s willing to make, the things he’s willing to sacrifice…

It makes Ratchet all the more determined to do everything he can.  
In a way, the twins are like his own creations, even though they were raised by the Autobots as a community once the younglings had been saved from the fighting circuits.

But they’d always formed a closer bond with himself and Ironhide.   
Optimus liked to tease the two that the twins had an affinity for gruffness. Ratchet would always playfully deny it, but he knew there was probably some truth to it. The twins, way back then, had needed something familiar to where they came from, but different enough to feel like they belonged.

‘Gruffness’ had been the perfect replacement for violence.  
Sunstreaker had latched onto him first, seeking out the medbay back in Iacon as a place to avoid other mechs, a place to quietly recalibrate his sensors as he tried to learn how to be social. As with any other situation, where Sunstreaker went, Sideswipe followed, quickly accepting Ratchet as a main caretaker.

Ratchet had been the first to give Sunstreaker an art set. 

The golden youngling, sat in the corner of the medbay with nothing but a polishing cloth, had taken the art set with wide, disbelieving optics that filled with fluid in appreciation. His habit of hiding away from _everything_ had turned into peacefully creating wonderful paintings, an outlet for his emotions.

Ratchet had been the first to receive a painting from Sunstreaker - a childish one, the youngling’s first ever drawing. It was him and Sideswipe in the center, with Ratchet on one side, Ironhide on the other, and other Autobots - including a yellow blob meant to be a sparkling Bumblebee in Optimus Prime’s arms - all around them.

That painting was framed in Ratchet’s personal quarters.

“No-one’s taking Sunstreaker. I’ll make sure of that.” Sideswipe startles at the soft interruption to his muttering. He shutters his optics, and a tiny, wavering smile tugs at his lipplates.

“Y- Yeah. I know you will, Ratchet. I know.” Even though the expression is so fragile, Ratchet vents a massive sigh of relief. Easing a parental tenderness into his field alongside professionalism, he speaks a little louder.

“There’s going to be a lot of welds and scars once everything’s done.” A watery laugh combined with a choked sob escapes Sideswipe, and he wipes at his optics with the back of one servo whilst his other still holds on to Sunstreaker’s.

“Oh, he’s going to _hate_ that~.”

“You’ll have to help him repaint.”

“Ratch, I’d paint, varnish, and polish him _everyday_ if it meant he wasn’t like… This.” He gestures to his unconscious twin. Ratchet humms in agreement as he pulls into the Ark, not slowing in the slightest and keeping his sirens on to make anyone who had stayed behind from battle leap out of the way.

From the moment they enter the medbay, to the time Ratchet kicks Sideswipe out for refuelling, it takes 4 groons. 

Ratchet takes a moment to recalibrate. All the leaking fuel lines have been soldered. All the dents have been pulled out, and torn metal has been welded. It leaves behind raised ridges and a discolouration around the scar, but at least Sunstreaker is _alive_.

“Ngn…” And, about to regain consciousness. Ratchet jolts to attention, besides the medbay berth in a flash. He knows Sideswipe will already be bolting this way, having felt his twin wake through the split-spark bond.

“Easy, sweetspark. You took a lot of damage. Quite a scary fall, huh?”

“Frag… Off…” Usually, that would earn Sunstreaker a wrench to the helm. But in this condition, Ratchet only huffs in slight amusement and knocks his knuckles against Sunstreaker’s hip.

“None of that language in my medbay, mechling.” Sunstreaker groans, slowly powering up his optics. They’re a dull blue from the sheer amount of pain reduction patches he’s on.

“You swear… All the time… Docbot.” 

“My medbay, my rules.” Sunstreaker snickers, but it fades into a grunt of exertion, clearly feeling the side effects of being flung into the ground at terminal velocity. 

“... How scratched up am I?” The corners of Ratchet’s mouth twitch up in a soft smirk.

“Oh, you’re in _terrible_ shape. The ‘streak’ part of your name is really applicable now.”

“I demand a polish, paint, varnish, and wax.”

“And _I_ demand you lie still until I’ve finished re-coding your motor system.” Grumbling, Sunstreaker crosses his arms, but doesn’t do anything else. It’s proof that he’s registered how serious the situation is.

Pausing, Ratchet glances to the medbay doors. Sideswipe is no doubt only seconds away, and that’ll bring forth a wave of guilt, tears, and Sideswipe blaming himself whilst Sunstreaker shouts at him to shut up and grab the polish.

The end of peace in his medbay.

Gently, he leans down and presses a soft, paternal kiss to one of the ridged scars on Sunstreaker’s chassis.

“Don’t worry, Sunstreaker. I’ll help you repaint once you’re back on your pedes, okay?”

“... Okay.” A beat of calm. Sideswipe’s heavy footsteps can be heard approaching and Sunstreaker rolls his optics.

“Hey, Ratch? Make sure the idiot doesn’t confuse wax with _tar_ again, won’t you?” Ratchet has just enough time to nod, laughing, and step away before a red blur launches across the medbay and clings to Sunstreaker, sobbing and apologising. 

With a gentle smile, Ratchet rubs Sideswipe’s back to help him through the influx of emotions, listening to the twins squabble.

They’re his creations, not by energon or bond, but just because _they are_.  
He loves them dearly.

“Ratchet! Get this blubbering _fool_ off me!!!”

“Sunnnnnnyyyyy!!!!”

Well. He loves them dearly _most_ of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did everyone have a good Pal-entines/Gal-entines/Valentines?  
> I went hunting for cool rocks to paint! :D


	16. Kiss on a wound, PLATONIC. Brawn, Windcharger.

“We’re scrap.”

“Don’t say that, I’ll bust us outta here somehow.”

“We’re _really_ scrap.” Laughing heartily, Brawn nudges his shoulder against Windcharger’s, almost knocking him over from where he leans against the rocky walls of the collapsed cave they’ve been trapped in. 

“Oh c’mon, it won’t take a hot minute to break through the wall!”

“Brawn, you might be strong, but you don’t exactly have Sideswipe’s pile drivers. You _cannot_ punch through the wall.”

“I’m going to punch through the wall.”

“Do _not-_!” Windcharger sighs as Brawn punches the rock wall. All that happens is a few pebbles drop from the ceiling.

“I told you not to.” Brawn only shrugs, cheeky half-smirk directed to his best friend. Windcharger raises an optical ridge, crossing his arms. Energon drips from a gash in the metal, a lucky shot that had grazed him as the entrance of the cave was shot down by Decepticons.

Really, this patrol had not gone the way it had been planned. 

“I managed to send out a distress signal just before we were fully trapped. All we have to do is wait, someone will be along to rescue us soon.” 

“... Ah.” Sheepishly, Brawn slinks back to Windcharger’s side. As Windcharger sighs and sinks down to the ground to sit, Brawn slumps next to him.

“S’long as the ‘Cons don’t come back, we should be okay.”

“I don’t think they will. Likely, our two patrols just crossed each other. It’s unfortunate, but out of our control.” Windcharger casually inspects his wound, grimacing as he tries to pick out tiny bits of rock and dust clinging to the damaged metal. 

“Here, let me take a look.” Brawn sits up properly, frowning in all seriousness as he inspects Windcharger’s arm.

“It’s pretty deep.”

“Mhm. Hasn’t hit any major fuel lines, though.”

“That’s good. I can’t have my buddy bleeding out on me!” A rough pat the shoulder has Windcharger vent out an ‘oof’, but he returns the affection by nudging that shoulder against Brawn.

“You can’t rid of me that easily~. Besides, what would you say to the other minibots?” The tease doesn’t go down well. He’d meant it playfully, but Brawn frowns deeply, optic ridge furrowing.

“I don’t know. They’d be devastated. ‘Specially ‘Bee, he’s still just a youngling. Be hard for him to lose the minibot he views as one of his many creators.” Windcharger smiles softly, optics dropping to the rock floor.

“Yeah. Although… I’m not the one he accidentally called ‘Sire’, am I~?” Throwing his helm back, Brawn laughs loud and free. It had been back when Bumblebee had just been upgraded from his sparkling frame to his very first youngling frame, and he’d been so enthusiastic to show off his minibot upgrade, he’d practically vibrated and crashed into Brawn’s arms, babbling about how excited he was.

Nobody missed that he accidentally called Brawn ‘Sire’, but it was such a pure moment that nobody dared tease him for it. Not even Cliffjumper!

“He might have _called_ me Sire, but you’re the one he was chirping at like a carrier!”

“Aww, shut up. It was _adorable_ , okay? ‘Bee’s so young, we practically _are_ his creators.” Snickering, Brawn rests his helm against Windcharger’s shoulder.

“He’s not the only one you fawn over~. You’re such a Carrier-friend.”

“And you’re a reckless, rough ‘n’ tough Sire-friend.”

“Whaaaat, I am not… Not much. Oh _pit_ , I am, aren’t I?” Windcharger’s soft laugh fills the cave, echoing on the rock walls. Brawn shutters his surprised optics, trying to let the revelation sink in.

“Took you long enough to realise~. But then, you’re my best friend. It makes sense that we work in tandem to look after everyone else.” 

“Well, then. Guess we’d better discuss some parenting techniques, ‘cus ‘Bee is getting _way_ too gutsy.” 

“That’s _your_ influence. Though I can also blame Jazz for that.” Grinning, Brawn holds up an enclosed fist. Naturally, Windcharger knocks his own against it. They’ve been friends for so long that they can practically tell what the other is thinking by now.

Hell, they’ve been friends since before _Beachcomber_ was created! 

“Hey, ‘Charger, how’s your arm?” Venting through his denta, Windcharger glances at his wound before covering it with his opposing servo again.

“Not as bad as it _could_ be, but that doesn’t stop it hurting.” He _feels_ Brawn smirk before he sees it, rolling his optics at the burst of playfulness in his best friend’s field.

“Want me to kiss it better~?”

“Do I-... What?! No! Brawn, I am _not_ a sparkling!”

“That was Cosmos’s excuse, but you still kissed his cheekplate scar better!”

“... That’s different! Cosmos is younger than us!”

“You’re younger than me~.” Windcharger spits out a line of static that sounds vaguely like ‘apspuffldsjghkjfdsnjk-’.

“We. Are almost. The same age.”

“And?”

“It’s _different!!_ ” Brawn laughs as Windcharger huffs, though he can tell from Windcharger’s field that he’s not offended in the slightest. More that he’s embarrassed, having been called out for his tender, parental ways.

“Give me your arm, Buddy.” With a roll of the optics, Windcharger holds out his injured arm, allowing Brawn to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to the edge of the wound. It stings, just a little, but for some reason, it _helps_.

“Feel better?”

“It-... Yeah, it actually does. Huh.” Brawn squints at him, though his lipplates are still curved in a smile.

“Does this mean you’re going to be coddling anyone with the slightest dent~?” 

“Hey, it helps! Of course I’m going to!” By the time a small group of rescuers have cleared the rocks from the collapsed cave entrance, Brawn is rolling on the floor in hysterics as Windcharger smacks at his side playfully. 

Just another typical day for the eldest minicons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon Windcharger and Brawn as the Mum-friend and Dad-friend.  
> No, I will not accept contradictions.


	17. Kisses on the fingers, ROMANTIC. Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker.

The only warning Starscream had before the experiment in front of him blew up _spectacularly_ , was a bubbling hiss.

“Oh no.” In the heat of the moment, the astrosecond before the inevitable explosion, Starscream panics. His processor flashes with images of melted lab tables, a chain reaction with other nearby chemicals, and shattered glass penetrating his laboratory walls.

And in that astrosecond that he panics, he wraps his servos tighter around the conical flask, hoping to prevent any of the dreaded scenarios he’d visualised. 

The explosion _burned_. It hurt and it stung, and Starscream could feel the lacerations being engraved into his servos, the caustic solution that had been in the flask stripping away at his paint and starting to corrode into his plating.

“Scrap, scrap, _scrap_!!! Fragging-!!! Ow!” He strides quickly over to the sanitation bath he’s set up in case of emergencies, plunging his servos into them. A hiss escapes him as the solution eases off from burning to stinging, and finally, to just the dull throb of his pain sensors.

When he pulls his servos out to inspect them, the metal plating is charred, and some of the corners of his digit plating is twisted. Not to mention, his paint is now splotchy, and what remains is dull in colour.

“Of fragging course, need a fragging repaint, well that’s just _fantastic_! Piece of slag experiment!” Disregarding his own condition, Starscream grabs a pre-prepared cloth, cleaning solution, and a tray for the broken glass.

He hadn’t _planned_ for this to happen, but every scientist knew to always prepare for the worse.  
Well, the Autobot one didn’t, but Starscream certainly did.

So wrapped up in angrily picking up the glass shards - and muttering sarcastically about it - Starscream doesn’t hear his laboratory door open.

“Star?”

“ _ **Primus**_ , Thundercracker, give a mech a spark attack, why don’t you?!” Thundercracker rolls his optics, but his lipplates twitch into a smile and he shakes his helm in affection. Then, he spots the glass.

“I thought I heard an explosion.”

“Oh yes, go ahead, rub it in.”

“I’m not trying to…” Venting a sigh, Thundercracker crouches down to try and help Starscream pick up the glass shards, but Starscream swats his servo away.

“It’s highly acidic and corrosive. Don’t touch.”

“And did you touch it?”

“...”

“And did _you_ touch it?”

“No comment.”

“Starscream, did you touch the slagging corrosive acid?” Hearing the slight irritation leaking into Thundercracker’s voice, Starscream rolls his optics.

“No! _It_ touched _me_!!!” He recieves a deadpan stare in return, before Thundercracker holds out a servo to inspect the damage. Grumbling under a vent, Starscream holds out his palms flat. Embarrassment floods him at Thundercracker’s hiss of sympathy.

“That’s bad. Come on, let’s get you patched up.”

“But cleaning up-”

“Can wait. Your servos are more important than an already broken test tube.”

“... It was a flask.” Thundercracker shoots him a look, tugging Starscream to his pedes. As much as he’d rather do this by himself, Starscream allows his trinemate to pull him through into the trine’s shared quarters.

They’d always had shared barracks, but ever since they sparkbonded, the trine rearranged it to be shared quarters. They’d even welded their berths together to make one giant one.

Skywarp is splayed over the berth on his cockpit, flicking through a thing the squishies call ‘graphic novels’. He glances up when the other two enter, then double-takes, furrowing his optic ridge. His wings hike up with uncharacteristic concern.

“Woah, hey, what happened?”

“Star’s experiment happened. I said I heard an explosion.” 

“Oh, so it wasn’t TC backfiring.” Thundercracker makes a strangled noise as Skywarp smirks, and Starscream snickers as Thundercracker’s faceplates flush.

“I _told_ you it wasn’t!!!”

“You did backfire, didn’t you~?”

“ _No!!!_ ” His wings bob up and down with humiliation, and Starscream calms his laugh to flick at Skywarp’s forehelm.

“Enough~. Just because Thundercracker has a problem-”

“I do not!”

“ - there’s no reason to bring it up.” Starscream smirks as he looks at Thundercracker over his shoulder, nudging a hip against his to let him know it’s all just teasing, and there’s no truth in it.

Well. Not much.

Thundercracker glares at him, no heat behind it, before it fades into a soft smile. Before Starscream can even take a screencapture, the stern, serious expression is back.

“Sky, can you get the emergency medkit again please?” Skywarp tilts his helm curiously, field reaching out in question. Scowling, Starscream holds his servos out.

“I was holding the flask when the solution reacted…”

“Geez, ‘Screamer, you gotta get some new safety rules or some slag in your lab…”

“ _Skywarp_.” Thundercracker’s exasperation seems to drag Skywarp back on track, and he flashes them a peace sign before warping out to find the closest emergency medkit he has stashed away somewhere.

“Did he just…?”

“Make a fleshy gesture? Yes, yes he did. You two indulge in too much organic scrap.” Thundercracker shrugs as he pushes Starscream towards a seat in the corner, not ashamed of his guilty pleasures at all. 

Can they even be called _guilty_ pleasures if he lacks guilt…?

“Nothing else to do on this backwater planet.”

“Maybe so, but if Skywarp slips up one day and does something _human_ in front of Megatron…” Starscream trails off, not needing to finish that sentence. He expects Thundercracker to agree with him. He expects Thundercracker’s fading blush to go straight to its usual pale.

He does not expect Thundercracker to laugh. Which is _exactly_ what he does.

“Sweetspark, I don’t think Megatron will mind. Did I tell you about the time I walked in on him trying to do Renegade?” Starscream’s optics widen to unimaginable proportions.

“No?! You didn’t-! He wouldn't-!! You have to tell me, now!” Thundercracker laughs again, managing to fight it to a chuckle, but he can’t keep the giant grin off his face or the occasional hitch of his vents as he tries to speak through his amusement.

“Okay, so, so I got hailed to the command center for a mission assignment, but I guess Megatron thought I was further away and not literally down the corridor, because when I opened the door- Pfft! - when I opened the door, he had- he had his back to me, but was reflected in the screen, and he was- Oh, Star, it was the most magical moment of my life, he was _moving along to a tutorial on how to Renegade_!”

“No!!!” 

"He tried to pass it off as _weight-testing_ his fusion cannon!" Starscream’s gasp of sheer delight is followed by him collapsing into uncontrollable cackles, whilst Thundercracker laughs hard enough that he has to lean against Starscream’s shoulder to stop himself falling over. He just about manages to get out a full sentence;

“D’you want- Want me to send you the recording?” 

“ _ **Pit yes** Oh, Primus, _ send me it immediately!” The ping of Starscream’s receiver goes unheard under his overjoyed shriek, opening the file as soon as it arrives. He covers his mouth with his hand as he leans over in the chair, damaged servo clutching at one of Thundercracker’s wings, both of them laughing so hard their optics leak fluid and vent stutter.

That’s what greets Skywarp when he flashes back in.

“I’m back! Sorry I took so long, I had to stop by medbay to steal some pain patches and-... Are you guys malfunctioning? What’s so funny?” Starscream forwards the file to Skywarp at the same time Thundercracker sends him the original. 

Against better judgement, Skywarp opens them both. His optics light up.

“Oh, I am _so_ challenging Megatron to a dance battle. I’m gonna wipe his _aft_ with all the dances I know.”

“Sk- Sky, _no_ -” 

“I know Cha Cha slide, Mambo number 5, Saturday night, The Swazz, 5-6-7-8, Say so, Reggie ‘n’ Bolo’s New Girl, _all_ the Fortnite dances, and a **much** better Renegade than Ol’ Buckethead!” 

“Sit your aft down and shut up, ‘Warp~!” Grinning, Skywarp sets the medkit down on a surface near the chair Starscream sits in, and gently takes one of his servos to inspect. It takes a while for Starscream and Thundercracker to calm down, Skywarp not making it any easier by occasionally muttering about how ‘clumsy’ and ‘sloppy’ Megatron’s attempt at learning Renegade was. 

As he brushes over a curled piece of plating that makes Starscream let out an involuntary hiss, Skywarp spares them a frown. Thundercracker sobers up quickly, taking Starscream’s other servo in his own and starting his own inspection.

“This is… Bad, Star. You shouldn’t be getting hurt like this.”

“Seriously, ‘Screamer, you gotta start taking care of yourself…” Starscream averts his optics with a soft sound of embarrassment, no doubt pouting. Thundercracker sighs, reaching out for some numbing salve from the medkit.

“You know we’ll patch you up whenever you need it, - we _love_ you, - but that doesn’t mean you should get hurt when there’s no reason to…”

“It’s not like I planned it…” Skywarp pokes at Starscream’s cheekplate, smile subdued but still present.

“I doubt that~. You plan _everything_ , right down to our sparkbonding! It’s one of your adorably annoying traits~.”

“Annoy-?!”

“Love you though~.” Skywarp winks when Starscream whips his helm round to him, before he looks away, blushing slightly. He’s getting more comfortable with affection, but Starscream is still Starscream, not the great sap who wears his spark on his plating like a certain blue trinemate.

“I love you and Sky so much. You’re my entire universe. I don’t think I could function without you, either of you. Love you.”

“... I _suppose_ I love you morons too.” His words don’t match his actions, sending adoration pulsing over both the trinebond and the sparkbond. Thundercracker practically melts, crooning as a dopey grin stretches on his faceplates, engines purring with pure happiness. 

Skywarp laughs, reaching over to pat his helm, before turning his attention back to Starscream’s servos and applying a small mesh to one of the injuries. With both his trinemates pouring their love and affection over both bonds, it’s hard for him to deny feeling that way himself.

Gently, he pulls Starscream’s servos to his faceplate, and presses a small kiss to the tip of his longest digit. Then, the one next to it. One on the other side. The shortest digit, and finally, the thumb digit.

“Skywarp, what-?” 

“I love you, okay? I love every part of you. Your devious spark, your wicked ways, your super-hot frame~... I love you from your ailerons to your helm. Every part of you. Including your _servos_. So please take care of yourself, ‘kay?”

“Sk- Skywarp…” Suitably flustered, Starscream looks down at his lap, only to catch Thundercracker’s tiny smirk, before he presses a kiss right to Starscream’s palm. As he does, Skywarp starts trailing his kisses from Starscream’s digits to his servo, gentle and affectionate in a way that he usual isn’t.

Starscream shutters his optics, but then relaxes. It’s _nice_ to be pampered like this. Not so nice that he got hurt in the first place, but he can feel Skywarp and Thundercracker’s fields meshing with his own, their systems beginning to syncronise.

They’ll probably curl up on the berth in sweet slumber once the wounds have been patched.

“... Love you too. Forever and always.”


	18. Crown of helm, PARENTAL. Optimus Prime, Bumblebee.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus; I've only had Bumblebee for an hour and a half, but if anything happened to him, I'd kill everyone on this planet and then myself.

The tiny little bundle in Optimus Prime’s arms was unexpected. He marched back into Iacon headquarters with purpose, his stride quick and one servo resting atop the tiny bundle like it was precious. 

The mechs who had come in with him either flocked his side - Ironhide and Ratchet specifically - whilst others cleared the path. Prowl had his enforcer sirens on, quickly making a path through the hallway, and Jazz hurried behind him, ushering curious faces back behind an invisible safety line.

“E’ryone back, a’right? Prime coming through at high speed!” He’s not joking. Poor Trailbreaker almost gets knocked off his pedes when he’s not quick enough to step back in time. Jazz stops to help him steady.

“Was- Was Prime _holding_ something?” Nodding with a rare seriousness, Jazz’s visor flickers a darker blue.

“Yeah. We did a sweep o’ Tyger Pax, but only life we found was a dyin’ femme.” Pausing, Jazz spares a distressed glance in the direction Optimus disappeared.

“Sustained damage sent her inta early emergence.” Trailbreaker’s optic band bursts with a little static at the revelation.

“... A sparkling…?”

“Yeah. Newspark. Hey, ‘Charger, Brawn, you in ‘ere somewhere?” There’s no reply, so for the next few breems, Jazz spends his time running all over the base looking for the two oldest minicons.

“Jazz?” He finds them in the security room, Windcharger on duty and Brawn accompanying him. Venting a sigh of relief, Jazz grabs them both by the arm.

“Need ya in the medbay. Got a minicon newspark we found in Tyger Pax, but Ratch’ don’t have full training in minicon first frames.”

“A _newspark_?!” Jazz hasn’t even fully processed the two words from Windcharger’s vocaliser before the grey minibot is out the door, his chair still spinning where he’s bolted down to the medbay. Brawn huffs a laugh, patting Jazz on the hip.

“You know he’s gonna adopt this one too, right?” It’s not a surprise. Windcharger had gained quite the reputation, sweeping anyone and everyone younger than him under his metaphorical wing. Pit, the twins were almost the same height as him, and Windcharger _still_ insisted on carrying the younglings around. Jazz snickers.

“Yeah, well, he’s gotta contend with Prime then~. OP saw the lil’ bit and fell in love right then and there. He’s prob’ly gonna speak ta Elita ‘bout officially ‘dopting him!” Brawn laughs, full on this time, and takes to trailing after Windcharger.

“By the time we get there, the newspark will probably have grown a protoform.”

“ _Grown_...?” 

“Yeah, we minicons aren’t like the rest of ya. We emerge as sparks with a membrane around us, which quickly grows into a protoform as the newspark registers everything around them. Once the protoform is fully developed - sweet little pudgy slimeballs, ugly but cute - we introduce them to a bundle of materials. The protoform binds to its chosen plating, and ta-da, the sparkling takes shape.”

“Sounds… Gross? But totally cool.” The duo enter the medbay to _chaos_ , Ratchet and Windcharger around an incubator, whilst Prowl and Ironhide hold Optimus back from intervening. Jazz shutters his visor.

“He _needs_ me, you have to let me go, _please_ Prowl, Ironhide. The sparkling-”

“Is under Ratchet’s care. Calm down, Optimus.” Prowl’s calming words do nothing, and Ironhide even grunts as Prime tries to pull away from him. Jazz, again, shutters his optics. He’s never seen Optimus like this before, almost unnerved and desperate.

Whilst Brawn goes over to help Windcharger and Ratchet, Jazz moves to stand in front of Optimus, holding his servos out flat to block him.

“Woah, easy, OP. What’s going on?”

“He- He’s _calling_ me, he needs me, I have to hold him, _**please**_.” The distress reeling in Optimus’s field isn’t just uncharacteristic, it’s painful. Extremely sensitive to fields, Jazz winces. 

But then, he realises it’s mixed with something else. No, with some _one_ else. He turns around, optics landing on the incubator, where sparkshattering wails originate from. Following the field, Jazz realises his suspicions are correct.

The sparkling really _is_ calling out to Optimus.

“Prime, you were the first ta hold him, right?” Optimus shakes his helm, still in his struggles as if Jazz’s question has completely thrown him off.

“No, that was… Ratchet scooped him up to put him in my arms.” Visor thinning, Jazz watches as Ratchet fusses over the sparkling, trying to calm it down with softer coos than Jazz thought he would ever hear.

The sparkling clings to his servo, and Jazz vents inwards. The cries of the sparkling, so _lonely_ and distressed are really unsettling him for some reason. And he can tell, from how Ironhide stands stiffly, that he’s affected too.

Everything clicks into place.

“Oh, Primus. It’s us. The bitlet formed a creator bond with _us_. All o’ us.” Prowl’s optics flash in surprise, warning of a crash, but Jazz interrupts by holding a digit up in front of him.

“Not you. You didn’t touch th’ newspark _or_ his carrier, and ya went ahead to pave the way. Meaning ya didn’t stay in range for the sparkling to latch to.”

“But- But _four_?” Windcharger walks over, tenderly carrying the little bundle in his arms, the mini-sparkling wrapped in thermal blankets as his new frame settled into place. His smile is soft, but a little sad.

“He’d just lost his carrier. When newsparks panic like that, they reach out for anyone nearby, and if there’s no-one they’re related to for them to bond with, they’ll reach for as many mechs as they need to stabilize themselves.” Optimus immediately drops to one knee, holding his arms out as if _begging_ to hold the sparkling, and Ratchet carefully moves his arms into a more suitable position.

“It’s likely, Optimus, that he’s most attached to you because you held him longest.” Optimus croons as he wraps his arms around the tiny sparkling, a tiny yellow blob against his red paint. The wailing calms to sobs, but even that quietens as Ironhide brushes a single digit against the smallest helm he’s ever seen.

“Aww, lil’ bits got horns!”

“Wait, what~?” Jazz leans in, peering at the sparkling, and quietly squeals at the sight of two tiny nubs that will develop into sensory horns just like his.

“Okay, I’m in love. OP, we’re totally keepin’ him on base, right?”

“Jazz, that would not be practical in the slightest-”

“Yes.” Prowl’s cut off by Optimus himself, and just from the tone of Prime’s voice, Prowl knows nothing he says is going to be considered. He vents a sigh, pinching at his nasal bridge.

“I’ll organise a team to sort a nursery…” Defeated, Prowl slinks from the room. Ratchet gives Windcharger a meaningful look, tilting his helm after Prowl with an encouraging smile. It’s silent permission to completely take control of the nursery room. Grinning, Windcharger grabs Brawn and bolts.

Ratchet chuckles warmly, thankful that Windcharger had cheered up. When the newspark hadn’t bonded to him as planned, he’d been really upset. This way, he still got to do something for their tiniest new arrival.

“Alright!” He claps his servos, then moves over to push Jazz and Ironhide aside and give the sparkling the gentlest of check-ups. Now he’s actually _in_ a frame, Ratchet knows what to do. It was just that first minicon-only step that had thrown him for a loop.

“The good news is, he’s healthy. Even better, asides from being a little premature, which could stunt his growth even more, he’s a fully functional mech. No processor problems, no delayed reactions, no missing circuits… He’s just hungry!” 

“Ah’ll git it. I doubt Prahm ‘n’ Jazz are gonna let the bitlet go~.” Optimus shakes his helm slightly, but his optics are entirely focused on the tiny bundle of joy in his arms. He cradles the sparkling so tenderly, rocking him back and forth just the slightest, absolutely _enamoured_ by this little miracle of life. 

Ironhide chuckles, walking off to the rec room for the dispenser. Ratchet moves to his cupboards, searching for the filtration system and supplements he knows he’ll need.

“He needs a designation…” Jazz mumbles, running a digit down the sparklings chassis, and getting a purred chirrup in return. Optimus laughs softly, rumbling his own engines so _softly_ that Jazz barely feels it, and the sparkling squeals, ending in a buzz.

“Bumblebee.”

“Bumblebee?”

“Mhm. His designation~.” Jazz shutters his visor, watching how _adoringly_ Optimus holds the little sparkling, rewarding every sound with one of his own, and simply cherishing what is now his creation.

Well. His, along with Ratchet, Ironhide, and Jazz. 

But Optimus feels it the strongest, and that’s evident in how he cradles the sparkling. Bright yellow plating vibrates as he gives another squeal that ends in a much longer buzz than before, sounding like the Gemstone bees of The Crystal Garden.

“It suits him, OP~. Our own lil’ Bumblebee.” There’s a moment of calm, and Optimus moves to sit cross-legged on the floor rather than on one leg. He startles at a grizzle, and watches the film over newly-named Bumblebee’s optics crinkle.

“Oh? His optics-” He doesn’t even finish the sentence before Bumblebee shakes the film off, and his optics power on for the very first time. They’re a brilliantly bright blue, and he shutters them multiple times before they settle on Jazz’s face.

“Awaaaa~!” Sparkling chirrups follow, and Jazz puts a hand over his spark as his vents stop for a moment.

“... A’ight, that’s the most precious thing I’ve ev’r seen. Prime, ya gotta let me hold him.” Optimus laughs, and with a ‘oh!’, Bumblebee looks up at Optimus. His surprised expression softens into a gooey smile with a soft giggle, kicking his pedes as his itty-bitty servos reach up for Optimus’s faceplate. He grabs hold, and Oprimus chuckles warmly.

“Later, Jazz~. For now, I think I’ve got to try and convince him to let go.” Bumblebee babbles as he tries to tug the plating off, but he’s just a tiny sparkling, and that _is_ a part of Prime’s frame. There’s no way he can do it. That… Doesn’t stop him trying.

“You certainly are determined, my sweet Bumblebee~... A little warrior already, aren’t you?” 

“Bah!” A servo smacks the faceplate when it proves immovable, followed by a squeal as Jazz laughs, having just witnessed Prime get slapped by a _sparkling_.

“Ya sure got that right, OP!” 

“He’s _wonderful_.” Aww, pit. There’s no way Jazz can joke about it anymore, not when Optimus sounds that head over heels for his new creation. His _son_.

Bumblebee gurgles, chewing on one of his servos, and Optimus’s optics are almost midnight blue with how soft and adoring they are. Gently, he leans down, and presses his faceplate _ever-so-lightly_ to the top of Bumblebee’s helm, right between the horn nubs.

Those newly onlined optics cross as Bee watches him, shuttering with a little sneeze as Optimus pulls away. 

“You have no idea, little ‘Bee, the turmoil you’ve emerged into. But I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you. You have an entire _city_ by your side, an entire _faction_ fighting for your future. Above all, my sweet sparkling, you have us.” Optimus nuzzles him, glancing around the room as Ironhide returns with a cube, taking it over to Ratchet. Jazz leans against a medberth as he waits his turn at holding Bumblebee.

“See Ratchet, over there? He’s a little grumpy, but that’s just to hide how much he cares~. He’ll be the one doing all your checkups, keeping you healthy… And patching up any scratches, though I hope you’ll never have any. And over there…” Optimus turns Bumblebee to see Ironhide.

“That’s Ironhide. He’s the best bodyguard this side of the universe. He’ll always keep you safe, read you stories, and put you to recharge. He can wrangle the twin terrors, so I know you’re in good servos~.” Lastly, Optimus tilts Bumblebee to see Jazz, who gives the sparkling a wave that has him happily chirping.

“And there’s Jazz. He’s my TiC, and head of Spec Ops. A sneaky bugger-”

“Aw, Prime! Don’t do me dirty like that in front o’ the bitlet!”

“ - but a wonderful friend~. He can make _anyone_ smile, even Prowl, and I just know he’ll win your spark over with fun games and lots of gifts. You’re going to be the _happiest_ little sparkling ‘chilling’ with Jazz.”

“Abwabababbwa!” Laughing, Optimus pulls Bumblebee back to his chassis, keeping the sparkling pressed so close he can feel the sparkbeat. Once more, Prime gives him a sweet kiss between the horn nubs.

“Welcome to Cybertron, sweetspark~.”


	19. Eyelashes kiss, ROMANTIC. Soundwave, Thundercracker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Transformers don't really _have_ eyelashes, but glass coverings over the optics is the same, right?   
> ... Right?
> 
> Anyway, here's my two favourite blue boys.

Silence. Pure, blissful silence.

Yeah, _as if_. 

“Ravage, give me my damn stylus back! I know _you_ took it, you damn thieving feline!!” 

“Ow! Boss!!! Rumble just threw a datapad at me!”

“Did not! I threw it at Ravage, your blocky helm jus’ got in the way!”

“Your helm’s blockier!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Ya-huh!”

“Nu-UH!”

“Ya-”

“You’re _**twins**_ , idiots! Both your helms are blocky!” Rumble and Frenzy look at Laserbeak for a split second of quiet before turning to each other and resuming their argument, this time with physical reinforcement.

In the background, Ravage growls from under the berth, protecting her stolen - and heavily gnawed - stylus from Buzzsaw, who ironically tries to steal it from her, squawking and screeching loudly.

The cacophony isn’t helped at all by Ratbat, asking Laserbeak questions at a rapid fire pace, seemingly innocently ignorant that she’s not answering them. He’s a curious little sparkling, though sometimes, a little too vocal about it.

Soundwave sits on his berth, faceplates in his servos and elbows on his knees. Pit, this is _embarrassing_. A soft chuckle comes from the mech sitting next to him, blue wing accidentally tapping against Soundwave’s back..

“Well, at least if they’re making _this_ much noise, they aren’t planning anything~.”

“Soundwave; Apologises. Peace and quiet; … Unfulfilled.” Thundercracker only laughs, just loud enough for Soundwave to hear him over the ruckus of his cassettes.

“Maybe, but it’s still nicer than the rest of the ship.” The rest of the Nemesis, of course, were breaking into the high grade once again. One successful raid, and suddenly, they felt the need to party.

Neither Soundwave nor Thundercracker generally enjoyed the stupidity that came with a drunk army, and the aftereffects of their own cubes wasn’t too pleasant either. Which is why they’d decided to ‘find somewhere quieter’. 

Soundwave’s quarters were the very opposite of quieter.

Soundwave tilts his helm to peer out from behind his servos, embarrassed by his cassettes blatantly inappropriate behaviour in front of a guest. _Especially_ a guest he was somewhat unofficially trying to court. 

He couldn’t specifically remember what drew him to Thundercracker, but they’d struck up a friendship, and gradually grown closer. It was only a couple of months ago they had tentatively started dating. Not quite courting, but Soundwave hoped they would get there someday.

“Cassetticons; Being _rude_.” Another soft chuckle. Thundercracker doesn’t seem to have realised Soundwave is peering at him, but he’s still _smiling_ , watching the 6 troublesome terrors with something akin to affection.

“They’re just being themselves. I’m… I’m really happy they feel comfortable enough around me to do so.” He smiles, and _Oh Pit_ , Soundwave feels his spark swell with what is undeniably love.

To distract himself and stop his faceplates flushing, he checks his internal chronometer. 

“Time; Late. Cassetticons; Should start recharging.” Thundercracker turns to Soundwave, leaning in a little and brushing their shoulders together. Belatedly, Soundwave realises how strained his vocaliser is.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know they’re more than just cassettes to you. You don’t have to keep calling them cassetticons.” A vent of relief. Soundwave’s visor flashes a lighter red with appreciation, and the corners of Thundercracker’s lipplates twitch back up to a smile.

Standing from the berth, Soundwave claps his servos together to draw the attention of his squabbling creations. All arguing stops as they look to him.

“Younglings; require recharge.”

“What, no!!!”

“No way, ‘Wave!”

“We’re not tired!”

“Rather not, thanks.”

“If you think I’m coming out of here, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Is TC staying?” The innocent little pip from Ratbat silences the group again, and they look to him before turning back to Thundercracker, who shuffles uneasily. He’s stayed a few times before, but usually once the bitlets were already in recharge, or if Soundwave asked him earlier on.

“I- I mean, I can? If your creator is okay with that…?” What amazes Soundwave most, when five pairs of optics and two visors turn to him, is how they’re all hopeful and on the verge of pleading.

Huh. He hadn’t expected them to have warmed up to Thundercracker so quickly.  
Usually, they teamed up to chase off whoever he started to show interest in, or showed interest in him.  
 _This_ is a development he welcomes.

“Affirmative~.” He gives Thundercracker an intense look, though it’s playful.

“Snuggles; incoming.” Thundercracker laughs, swinging his legs where he sits on the edge of the berth. His wings flutter in anticipation. A big, bad Decepticon warrior he may be, but he’s _soft_ , and cuddles are his absolute favourite.

“I look forwards to it~.” Soundwave turns his attention back to his spawn swarm, noting how they either grin (Rumble and Buzzsaw), smile (Ravage, with a little purr, Ratbat, chirping excitedly, and Laserbeak), or scowl (Frenzy).

Oh. Scowl.   
That’s… Not good. Quietly, Soundwave kneels down and puts a servo on Frenzy’s shoulder. Frenzy shuffles, crossing his arms.

“Do you not want Thundercracker to stay?”

“No! I mean yes! I mean…” He grumbles under a vent in irritation. Frowning, Thundercracker moves from the berth, walking over to Soundwave’s side. He gives Frenzy a little more space, crouching down so he’s the same height as the youngling.

“I’ll leave if you’d prefer that, Frenzy. It’s okay, I understand. This is _your_ space, and _your_ family. I won’t barge my way in without your agreement. _**All**_ of your agreement.”

“... I don’t mind if you stay, I just… I just want Creator to _put_ us t’bed, and he never does if you’re coming, ‘cus Ratbat always wants a story, an’ that takes ages.” Thundercracker shutters his optics. Surprised, he looks to Soundwave, and Soundwave guiltily averts his visor as he feels a flicker of accusation in Thundercracker’s field.

“You change their routine when I’m coming over?”

“... Course of action; Practical and-”

“ _No_ , Soundwave. Answer me properly. Do you change their routine when I’m coming over?” 

“... Yes…” A pulse of guilt stretches through his field, and Thundercracker rolls his optics. But then, he nudges Soundwave’s side, affectionate and forgiving.

“I can’t believe you let me miss out on storytime! You _know_ I love stories.” For a moment, Soundwave is startled. Yes, he’d known Thundercracker liked reading and writing, but for some bizarre reason, he’d never stretched that to _storytime_. 

Maybe because that was for younglings.

“I… Apologise?” 

“So… Bossbot _is_ gonna put us to recharge?” Thundercracker gives Soundwave another encouraging nudge, and Soundwave relaxes, smiling behind his mouthpiece. He nods at Frenzy with all the love of a creator.

“Of course, Frenzy. Soundwave; also enjoys recharge time~.” The youngling breaks into a grin.

“Awesome! Thanks, TC! You’re the _best_ for being okay with this!” Thundercracker stands again, playfully giving Frenzy a noogie, but Soundwave takes note that his wings dip in concern.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re his _creations_.” Frenzy doesn’t answer, already rushing over to the bunk-berth, fighting with Rumble over who gets the top. Soundwave brushes his digits against Thundercracker’s knuckles.

“Other interests from long ago;... Not so keen on younglings. They didn’t understand. Interactions; Kept minimum for youngling’s safety.” Thundercracker frowns, optic ridge furrowing and _thunder_ in his expression.

“Then they were idiots. You’re a _family_ , the bitlets are an important part of _any_ relationship! Pit, they should be any courting mech’s _**first**_ thought!”

“Are they yours?”

“H-Huh?”

“Are they your first thought?” The white of Thundercracker’s faceplates quickly begins to flush pink, and his wings make a little swirly motion that mean he’s been caught in the act. Not a bad thing, Soundwave thinks, considering their discussion.

“... Yeah. Yeah, they were. Back when we were just friends, I already wanted them to accept me, but when I realised I lov- _had feelings_ for you, I wanted them to like me. I wanted to… To be part of it, I guess? Sorry if that’s weird.”

“Thundercracker; doing amazing~. Younglings; already like you.” Soundwave doesn’t mention the slip of the glossa, how Thundercracker had almost said that very special L-word that he _knew_ both of them already felt.

They were taking it slow. Saying that now could jump things along too far for the younglings to cope with.

“L- Let’s get the younglings to recharge!” The embarrassed yelp of Thundercracker’s voice makes Buzzsaw snicker and Laserbeak give him a knowing look, and he tries to ignore it as he resets his vocaliser. Soundwave chuckles quietly.

“Soundwave; Will take the difficult ones. Query; Thundercracker okay with Ravage, Laserbeak and Ratbat?” Softening, Thundercracker smiles.

“I would love that.” He lowers his voice to a stage whisper, pretending like he’s sharing a secret.

“Don’t tell anyone, but they’re my favourites~.” Buzzsaw squawks indignantly, while Frenzy and Rumble shout out ‘Hey!’ in unison, followed by Rumble’s mumble of ‘less cool than before…’.

On the other hand, Ravage purrs and lifts her head with pride. She knows it’s a joke, as does Laserbeak, but it’s just like siblings to try and rub it in. Laserbeak even snarkily stretches her wings out in front of Buzzsaw. Ratbat, the youngest of the group, a sparkling, wiggles with excitement, squeaking and chirruping.

Thundercracker laughs, putting his hands out placatingly.

“I’m joking, I’m joking~. You’re _all_ my favourites.” That calms the twins and Buzzsaw down, but Ratbat flaps his little bat wings clumsily over to land on Thundercracker’s helm.

“But I’m your _favourite_ favourite, right?” Reaching up, Thundercracker scritches under Ratbat’s chin and the sparkling melts into it. 

“Of course you are, sweetspark.” It’s a whisper quiet enough that only Ravage catches it. She doesn’t mind. Ratbat _deserves_ it. Because of how annoying other mechs find him, he doesn’t get a lot of kindness and affection, not like how Thundercracker lavishes him in it.

That little sparkling is adored and spoiled rotten when Soundwave isn’t around to say no to the multiple of goodies Thundercracker makes them.  
(She herself, has indulged in quite a few.)

“Younglings; _incredibly_ late to recharge.”

“It’s party night, Boss, you can’t put us to recharge on time on _party_ night!” Soundwave shoots Rumble a look that means he can and he will. Rumble winces and hurries into the top bunk-berth, only to get kicked out by Frenzy who has already claimed it.

He scrambles into the bottom bunk instead, more concerned with Soundwave’s parental lectures than the top bunk. 

Venting a sigh, Soundwave moves over to them and grabs their thermal blankets, tucking them in and brushing their helms with gentle hands until they start to yawn, optics shuttering.

“Good reflux, sweetlings.”

“Night, ‘Wave.”

“Good reflux, Bossbot.” With those two done - surprisingly easy, but then, they probably didn’t want to embarrass themselves in front of Thundercraker - all Soundwave has left is Buzzsaw.

Ah yes, the trouble child. A biting, squawking mess of metal feathers that despised being told what to do. _Especially_ when he’s tired. Recharge time is a battle when it comes to Buzzsaw. 

On the other hand, all Thundercracker had to do was _ask_ , and Ravage had curled up in her berth - shaped more like a nest, or cat bed - and Laserbeak had taken to her perch, preening her feathers to wind down for recharge.

“Ratbat, sweetspark, you need to get off my helm, yeah?”

“Nooooo, you’re so waaaarm~.” Thundercracker huffs with a tiny smile, trying to pry the smallest cassette off his helm.

“Your thermal blanket is warm too.”

“But I wanna stay with you.” Resolve clearly breaking, Thundercracker looks to Soundwave for permission. Soundwave shakes his helm regretfully. If he lets Ratbat get away with it once, he’ll expect to get away with it all the time. Thinking quickly, Thundercracker nibbles at his bottom lipplate.

“... But if you stay up there, _I’ll_ go into recharge, and then there won’t be a story.” Ratbat lifts his helm and ‘prrips’ in surprise. His tiny claws scratch into Thundercracker’s paint as he scrambles, clumsily flying over to his roost.

“I’ll recharge, I’ll recharge! See, I’m in my own berth!” Softly chuckling, Thundercracker wraps the smallest thermal blanket he’s ever seen around Ratbat, fastening a magnet so it doesn’t slip off where Ratbat hangs upside down.

“Can we have a story now?” At the hopeful question, there’s a groan from Rumble’s berth.

“Can we _not_? We’ve read all of them so many times, I see ‘em in my reflux!”

“Shut up, Rumble! Some of us aren’t too dumb for datapads!” Rumble kicks the berth above him, enough that Frenzy yelps before he leans over the edge of the berth, ready to hit him.

“A-hem.” They freeze as a shadow falls over them. A very scratched up Soundwave, looking like he’s just come off the _battlefield_ , stands over them, Buzzsaw in his arms and beak latched viciously around his thumb digit.

Mumbling their apologies, the twins retreat back under their own thermal blankets.

As Soundwave puts Buzzsaw on his own perch, _trying_ to convince him to stay, Thundercracker glances over the collection of datapads with a frown. They’re all very common, unimaginative datapads for younglings a little older than Ravage. No _wonder_ the twins find them boring.

“Well…” He grabs a chair, taking it to the middle of the room.

“How about a story that’s not from a book?” Wide optics blink at him, and Frenzy leans forwards a little with longing.

“You can _do_ that?” 

“I can certainly try. What kind of story do you want?” Voices overlap as the siblings battle to be heard above each other, all giving very different descriptions of the kind of story they want.

“ _Silence!_ ” Soundwave pulses out his field, expertly manipulating it to act as a lecture. A tense hush descends on the room. Awkwardly, Thundercracker clears his vocaliser.

“How about we build it together? One thing each, okay?”

“I want a fighting adventure story!!!"

“Yeah! With a total badaft main character!” Ravage rolls her optics at Frenzy and Rumble's enthusiastic violence, mockingly throwing out punches as if they _were_ the main character.

“Well, I'd like a femme main character. Laserbeak and I are outnumbered all the time.”

“Yes, I agree with Ravage.” The sisters share a grin. Rumble rolls his optics.

“Great, there goes the badaft fighting hero I wanted to look like me.” With a soft chuckle, Thundercracker sits down and intervenes.

“We can always have two main characters. One vicious, fighting mech, and one femme that fits whatever your co-creations decide~.” Buzzsaw averts his optics, embarrassed, but with a little encouragement from Soundwave - a digit brushing down his front - he finally answer.

“Family.”

“Sounds great. Ravage, Laserbeak, is it okay if the femme a youngling?” Ravage shrugs, settling in her cozy cat-bed berth quite comfortably. Laserbeak answers with a more reassuring affirmative. Lastly, Thundercracker turns to Ratbat.

“What about you, sweetspark? What do you want in the story?”

“A comfy home!!! Like the one we'll have on Cybertron after the war!” Rumble groans again, but Soundwave rests a gentle servo on his shoulder, a silent reassurance that he’ll still have his fighting/action story. 

He watches as Thundercracker thinks long and hard, putting together all these little aspects, his wings flickering rapidly as he bounces through ideas and plotlines. He clicks his digits as he pulls everything together, and Soundwave moves to sit on the edge of his creations berth, letting his calm field wash over the twins.

“Alright, how about the tale of Stormblade and Lavendersky, a legendary berserker on a conquest through the universe, and his daughter?” There’s a chorus of affirmation and agreement, and Thundercracker leans forwards in the chair, eager to tell the tale he’s spun in a matter of minutes.

“Stormblade was a mech as bloodthirsty as they come. He lived for the thrill of the hunt, the joy of battle, and the gorey satisfaction of a kill. He wanted only two things in life. The first was to ruthlessly tear apart all those who had wronged him - and there were a _lot_! - and the second? Well, that was even more important than the first. He wanted his daughter to be happy.”

“Lavendersky?” Thundercracker nods at Laserbeak, before returning to his tale.

“Lavendersky was sweet and kind, a youngling who could always be found tending to her Sire’s injuries, or singing calm melodies. There were only two things she wanted in life. The first was a little house on a quiet planet, surrounded by crystal flowers and Cyber-fauna. The second? She wanted her Sire to be happy.”

“But they want totally different things!” Frenzy almost throws himself over the edge of the top bunk as he leans in. Thundercracker laughs quietly, holding up a hand requesting his patience.

“I’ll get to that~. So, our story starts on Himalia, a moon within this very solar system. Stormblade stood before two opponents, his sword raised high, already splatted with the energon of those he had already defeated. He-”

“He’s got a sword?! That’s so cool!” Gently, Soundwave pushes Rumble back down to a resting position.

“Suggestion; Let Thundercracker speak without interruption.”

“I don’t mind. Nice to know they’re interested~.” With a little pip, Ratbat wriggles in his blanket cocoon.

“What happened next, TC…?”

“Where was I…? Oh yes! He was run ragged, exhausted from having already battled _forty eight_ enemies in one go. The two remaining were the strongest of the 50, and they knew it, grinning slyly as they advanced on Stormblade…” A quiet gasp. Thundercracker grins, pausing for dramatic effect.

“All of a sudden! Out of nowhere, this streak of lilac _darts_ across the battlefield!”

“Lavendersky!” Buzzsaw, embarrassed by his own outburst and the titters of his siblings, tries to cover it up by beginning to preen. 

“She stood in front of her Sire, spread her arms out wide as if to hide him behind herself, and she begged the mercenaries. She said to them ‘Please, no! Have you not done enough?’, flinching as they laughed at her.” He pauses again, lowering his voice.

“Lavendersky whimpered as one of the mercenaries teasingly pointed his weapon at her. Then, a strong but gentle hand settled on her shoulder. She looked up, her own golden optics meeting her Sire’s crimson, and she understood. Backing against his legs, she waited. Stormblade was silent, unmoving-”

“Is he _dead_?”

“No, youngling. Just _waiting_. He was tense, ready to strike. As soon as the mercenaries came into range, he slid one leg away from the other, Lavendersky running through the gap to safety, and the strongest warrior in all the universe easily decapitated his foes with a single swing!”

“Woah!”

“That’s so cool!”

Thundercracker continues, spinning this tale for long enough that Frenzy actually drifts into a full recharge cycle, and the rest look on the verge of doing the same. They’d obviously been very excited for most of it, but now, the tale was coming to an end, and Thunderracker had suitably calmed it down.

“ - brick by brick, Stomblade and Lavendersky built this little house on a planet at the very edges of the universe, a place they could return to after every mission. As years passed, and Lavendersky grew older, she stayed behind more and more often. From his travels, Stormblade always brought his precious daughter a gift.” 

“Always, TC…?”

“ _Always_. The little house filled with decoration and comforts from galaxies afar, and the garden expanded to cover the whole planet! Some say, if you ever travel to the edges of the universe, you’ll find a small planet with mismatched fauna and flora. That, if you can find her, is where you’ll find shy, sweet Lavendersky. She’ll be grown now, but she still sings just as beautifully, and still loves her Sire dearly.”

“She must be lonely, if Stormblade is always gone.” Ravage yawns, waiting for a response.

“She misses him, yes. But he always returns. Whilst he isn’t there, she has the animals he brings her from all over the universe. And, if the rumours are true… An orphaned pair of younglings he spared because they reminded him too much of his late sparkmate, and his daughter.”

“So now Lavendersky has a family too?”

“Mhm~. Our tale ends on that one little planet, a daughter welcoming her Sire home, two younglings circling them with new gifts in their arms. All four had they wanted. Stormblade still had his adventures and killing sprees, but his daughter was happy. Lavendersky had her home and family, but her Sire was happy. The two orphaned younglings had a Creator who loved them, and a grand-Creator who adored them. All in all, a _very_ happy ending.”

“That was great, TC! One day, I want a little home like Lavendersky has!” 

“One day, Ratbat. One day.” Soundwave finally moves from the edge of his creations berth, digits brushing one last time over Rumble’s helm as he falls into a deep recharge.

“Younglings; Should recharge now.” There’s a mumble of agreement, even _Buzzsaw_ settling down with very little fuss. Little, but not none.

He still throws his thermal blanket out a couple of times, but Soundwave returns it each time. 

“Recharge.” Buzzsaw quickly obeys, hearing Soundwave’s patience thin. Venting a huff of amusement, Soundwave turns back to see Thundercracker leaning down and giving Ravage a soft pat on the helm, scritching behind one of her ears. He can hear the purring from here.

That’s the exact moment that Soundwave decides “He’s the one”. 

None of his other interests had ever been this invested in the happiness of his younglings, or cared at all! Some of them had been downright dismissive, and one had even scowled at Buzzsaw when he’d accidentally entered the room. 

Thundercracker _cares_.  
More than cares, he genuinely likes them, and wants them to like him too!  
(Soundwave doesn’t _need_ to be a telepath to know they already do.)

“Soundwave?” Belatedly, Soundwave realises he’s been staring in that vague direction too long, feeling his spark beat warmly in his chest. During that time, Thundercracker had already moved to the berth in the corner, waiting there with an expression of confusion.

“You okay?”

“Affirmative. Simply… Having revelations.” A soft huff of a laugh lets Soundwave know that Thundercracker isn’t bothered in the slightest. Rather, he pats the berth invitingly. 

“Come on. You promised snuggles, and I’m not going to let you get away without that.” Laughing quietly, Soundwave moves to join him, taking the side of the berth that’s pressed up against the wall. Thundercracker needs the outside edge to hang his wings off. 

Or at least, that’s how he prefers to recharge. 

Gently, they move in towards each other, legs tangling and an arm each slung over the other’s waist or hip. Their optics are already offline, not needing to see to find each other like this. Their helms press together, so close that the glass covering their optics brushes against each other.

Without lipplates, its the most intimate way for Soundwave to kiss, whilst still being innocent. 

The quiet of the room and the six fields of recharging younglings mingling with their own very quickly brings about a recharge cycle. Soundwave knows the astrosecond Thundercracker drifts off, because his systems go near-silent, and his faceplate relaxes.

He’s got such an _ugly_ recharge face, but Soundwave wouldn’t change it for the universe. It’s endearing and adorable.   
Even if he does snore and drool a little in the later stages of recharge.

Pressing in a tiny bit more, Soundwave initiates his own recharge cycle. He clears his mind of all thoughts but one in the process.

_“Tomorrow, I’ll ask the younglings if they’re ready for Thundercracker to be more than just my date.”_

Well. If he finds time to when he has the remains of the Nemesis Party to clean up.


	20. Baby bump, ROMANTIC. Megatron, Thundercracker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't like mechpreg, I highly recommend skipping this one!
> 
> If you do like mechpreg, here's my favourite rarepair for you! :D

Sometimes, Thundercracker wondered how he got himself into these situations. He’d been sat in front of the monitors for a groon now, trying to keep weight off his aching pedes whilst still making a contribution. He’d been put to light duty roughly three earth months back, but adamantly _refused_ to do absolutely nothing.

Just because he was extremely close to emergence, didn’t mean he was completely useless.   
In fact, he shouldn’t even still be carrying. The newsparks were supposed to have emerged a full _week_ ago.

Sometimes, Thundercracker cursed his coding. He was one of only two carrier-coded mechs on the Nemesis, Reflector being the other, so when Megatron had stated he wanted an heir…

But that was old news. Now, he was heavy, he was sore, he was _exhausted_ , and more to the point, he was refusing to let the fourth shift take over monitor duty.

“You gonna move or what?” 

“No.” 

“Third shift is _over_ , I’m supposed to be on duty now.”

“I’ll cover for you.” Stubbornly, Thundercracker swivels around in the chair he’s in, fixing his optics back on the screen in front of him. Onslaught vents a sigh, pinching his nasal ridge as his shadow looms over Thundercracker.

“You’re not even supposed to be on duty.”

“I am _not_ incapable just because I’m carrying!” Onslaught wisely backs up at the growl in Thundercracker’s voice. Pretty much every mech aboard the Nemesis had learnt - most the hard way - that carrying meant an influx of electrons to the emotional center in the processer. And Thundercracker was explosive when angered.

Skywarp had compared it to human’s hormones.  
Thundercracker had roundhouse kicked him and stuffed him through a window right into the ocean.

“I’m… Not saying that. Just that Megatron took you off the roster-”

“ _Because_ I’m carrying his heirs.”

“... Thundercracker, please. If Megatron hears of this, we’re _both_ going to get slagged.” Onslaught backs away further at a sharp glare.

“Then he can come and deal with me himself, the coward!” 

That… Was another thing. The arrangement had started off all business at first. Thundercracker continued his daily routine as an ordinary soldier, Megatron continued being the leader of the Decepticons and nothing more.

But as soon as the first scan had been done and it came back that there was not just one, but _two_ newsparks, Megatron had begun to show a more… Casual interest. Rather than just being this heir he thought would give him the war advantage, it became… _They_ became actual creations. Sparklings he wanted to be involved in raising.

Somewhere along that line, he’d gone from detached leader who just wanted a heir, to a friend who was determined to be a good Sire.

A good enough friend that Thundercracker, in his sore, tired, and electron-inundated state, _dared_ to treat him on even ground, as an equal.

“... I’ll call Starscream.” Onslaught knows he’s made the right decision when blue wings hitch a little before slowly lowering as much as they can against the back of the chair. Thundercracker shuffles.

Onslaught makes the call, somewhat smug. He expects for Starscream to come in, all spite and fight, and _order_ his trinemate to remove himself from the chair and waddle back to his quarters.

What actually happens is that Starscream enters, opens his mouth to speak, and then pauses. Thundercracker grumbles under his breath, averting his optics, and Starscream _bursts_ out laughing. 

“You’re stuck in that chair, aren’t you?! Ahahahahaaa! I _told_ you your aft was fat!”

“Shut up…” Thundercracker grumbles, but it grows into a snarl the longer Starscream laughs at him. He lunges with an outstretched hand for Starscream’s neck, but in doing so, he reveals the true extent of the situation he’s stuck in.

Literally, _stuck_ in.

The chair is screwed to the floor, but it rocks a little as Thundercracker lunges, although he doesn’t get out from it. Rather, he just collapses back in it with an ‘oof!’.

Right that astrosecond is when Megatron enters the room, looking up from his datapad at Starscream’s laughter. He shutters his optics as Thundercracker lets off a furious spiel of impressive curse words.

“... What did you do to him?” Starscream opens his mouth to protest, Onslaught venting a sigh, but someone else interrupts.

“It’s more what _**you**_ did to me!” Megatron pauses. His optics slide from Thundercracker to Onslaught, getting a weary nod as an answer to his silent question.

_“Electrons?”_

_“Electrons.”_ Knowing he has to diffuse the situation, Megatron places his datapad asides and walks over calmly, radiating a reassuring field. He’s not a leader right now, but a support mech for the Carrier of his unborn creations.

“I apologise for that. I overlooked late-stage carrying, and how it would affect you, Thundercracker.” Thundercracker shutters his optics, not having expected an apology in the slightest. 

“That’s… Okay?” Nodding his head, Megatron whips his gaze to Starscream with a scowl.

“You. Get out.”

“What?! Why? Thundercracker is my trinemate and since he’s _stuck_ \- pfft! - I should be here to-!”

“To what? To laugh, Starscream? To unnecessarily stress out an _overdue Carrier_ and embarrass him? The joke is on you, Starscream, you’re only making a fool of yourself. As expected.” Squawking in offense, the second in command shoots Megatron a glare, before stomping out.

Ever since Megatron had started showing _interest_ in being a good Sire, and henceforth been more considerate to Thundercracker, Starscream had (reluctantly) calmed down.   
He couldn’t exactly kill the Sire of his trinemate’s creations now, could he?  
Even Starscream wasn’t _that_ evil. 

Lastly, Megatron turns to Onslaught.

“I believe Mixmaster has a lubricant solution for these kinds of things. Notify him, and assist him in bringing two tubs.” Lowering his volume, Megatron leans in a little, though his optics are on Thundercracker.

“We’re going to need at least that much.” Unfortunately for Megatron, he doesn’t say it _quite_ quiet enough. Thundercracker whips a thunderous gaze on him, scowling. It’s the premise of a rant - both about his condition and Megatron’s quip.

“Yes, Sir!” Assuming it’s about to go down, Onslaught salutes and rapidly backs out of the room. Megatron calmly moves closer, but instead of standing _besides_ Thundercracker as he’s taken to doing, he instead kneels down and swivels that chair he’s stuck in to face him.

“I hear you had a check-up this morning. How are the little ones?” Mentioning the sparklings does _exactly_ what Megatron hoped.

All the tension and anger leaks from Thundercracker’s frame with a vented huff, his wings relaxing back against the chair, and he drops a servo to his - very large - abdomen.

“Mhm. Hook said they’re both in good shape, though the femme seems a lot larger than the mech now they’re both in position.”

“Is that a bad thing?” One of the corners of Thundercracker’s lips twitches up into a smirk.

“Only for me.” Megatron chuckles, one of his servos trailing up the outside of Thundercracker’s leg and onto the protruding chamber. Thundercracker slowly moves his own servo away, before gently placing it over Megatron’s, guiding it slightly to the left.

“Here…” Underneath his black servo, Thundercracker’s striking blue plating _moves_. He winces, and Megatron gently brushes his thumb digit back and forth to soothe what is obviously a very hyperactive sparkling.

“That’s the femme. She always reacts like this to your touch. The mech takes a little longer, but his wing nubs will flutter like crazy when you speak to him.” Megatron whips his optics up from the lopsided ‘baby-bump’ to Thundercracker, smile instantly switching to elated shock.

“They can _hear_ me?” 

“... I told you this two scans ago. I suspected you were too busy with your plans, but you _did_ assure me you’d heard what I said.” Guilty, Megatron grumbles under a vent before shuffling closer, his warm vents fanning over Thundercracker’s aching plating.

It’s not easy carrying two sparklings in the same emergence chamber. 

“Hello, my little ones. Can you hear me? Can you hear your Sire? I apologise for not talking to you all this time. Sire is… A little bit distracted most of the time.” Thundercracker chuckles quietly, and Megatron responds with a half-grin. He moves his other servo up so he can feel both sparklings at once.

“I bet you’re going to be little angels, aren’t you~? You’ll have your Carrier’s calm disposition, your Sire’s incredible patience - as proved by the fact Starscream still functions - and hopefully inherit both our love for datapads… I can’t wait to meet you, sweetlings.”

Sure enough, as he speaks, he can feel tiny little pulses on Thundercracker’s right, and large but less regular kicks on the left. 

“That’s… They’re reacting to me… They _know_ me…” He sounds so full of wonder and awe that Thundercracker doesn’t tell him the sparklings react to everyone. But there is some truth to Megatron’s whispered amazement.

The sparklings always react quickest to Megatron, and always more enthusiastically. So much so, that Thundercracker feels a little queasy. Strong kicks from the large femme don’t help with the pain that comes from carrying anyways, and the flutter of little wing nubs stir up an uncomfortable sensation of his internals being rearranged. 

“Mhm… You’ll get to hold them, soon.”

“Soon?” Megatron stroked oth hands tenderly over the baby-bump, hoping to soothe some of the obvious agony that Thundercracker is going through. 

“Yea, Hook says he’ll give them another week, but if they don’t emerge by then, he’ll have to induce.” An uneasy pause.

“...For my safety as well as theirs.” Megatron _feels_ how frightened he is, their fields merging together from being this close. He humms in consideration.

“I can talk to Hook about shortening the time period, if that would make you comfortable?” Rubbing at his nasal bridge, Thundercracker offers a thankful smile and nods so slight that he barely moves. 

Then, he suddenly clenches his denta, curling in on himself with a groan of pain, spasm running up his spinal strut. Servos on Thundercracker’s bump, Megatron feels the brutal kick and couple of punches from the femme’s side, paired with a full on wiggle from the mechling. 

He keeps stroking his hands back and forth, pushing comfort into his field to try and soothe Thundercracker. It takes a few astroseconds before he uncurls, venting heavily. He holds a shaking servo up to let Megatron know it’s over.

Frowning, Megatron removes one servo from the baby bump and reaches up to catch Thundercracker’s own servo in it, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He waits until the heavy vents have passed before he return it to his precious sparklings.

“Easy, sparklings, easy… You’re hurting your Carrier with this much ruckus.” As if they understand, the motion eases down to little flutters and gentle taps. Thundercracker sighs in relief. He smiles as he puts his own servos over Megatron’s just resting them there.

“You’re good with them.”

“I am their Sire, after all.”

“It’s a relief they listen to _one_ of us.” Megatron chuckles, and then, his optics soften with affection. He leans in, and brushes the gentlest kiss over the right side of the baby bump, where the mech is, then moves over to the right side, and gives a slightly more firm kiss to where the femme is.

“You’re going to be the most _spoiled_ sparklings in the universe, my sweetlings.” Laughing softly, Thundercracker shakes his head with amusement.

“We’re not going to stand a chance! One look into tiny optics, or just one ‘please’, and we’re going to be completely giving in~.”

“If you think that’s bad, Soundwave has already offered _more_ than enough for the nursery, Swindle is making deals with the humans for suitable toys, and I believe Scrapper has already started building play equipment for when they’re younglings.” Thundercracker booms a laugh, throwing his helm back. Still snickering, he taps his cockpit, above his spark chamber.

“Star ‘n’ Sky are obsessed too. They keep fighting over which of them is going to be the best uncle~.”

“Oh? And who do you think it will be?”

“Soundwave.” Not expecting the cheeky reply, Megatron laughs, leaning in comfortably to rest his cheekplate against the baby bump. He can feel both the sparklings moving from here, and he’s gentle enough that it doesn’t bother Thundercracker. 

He hears Thundercracker’s sharp intake of agony before he feels a spasm _roll_ through the seeker, stronger than before. He tries to curl up into it, but he’s still stuck in this _damn chair_!!! Hunched over, he tries to bear through it with heaved vents, but it’s not doing much help.

Megatron pulls back, takes one of his servos, and rubs a servo up and down his arm reassuringly. The comfort is appreciated, but it doesn’t help.

As the excruciating pain eases off, Thundercracker looks up at Megatron with near-white optics, and his pale faceplates are even paler. Before Megatron can ask if he should just rip the chair from the floor and carry Thundercracker to the medbay, Thundercracker blurts out;

“Call Hook. They’re coming.”

“They _what_?!”

“They’re coming!” His clenches Megatron’s servo so tightly it might be deformed as a low groan ripples through him, wings going still with agony.

“They’re coming…” Even though the situation is serious - Thundercracker going into emergence whilst _stuck in a chair_ \- Megatron can’t help but feel excited.

He’s going to meet his sparklings at last! He’ll be able to see them, hold them, and give them kisses on their tiny little helms rather than on the baby bump-!!!

“ _Megatron!!!_ ”

“Oh, right, yes! Calling Hook right now. Deep vents, Thundercracker. You’ve been an amazing Carrier all this time, you’re going to be _fantastic_ once they’re-”

“ _ **Just call Hook, Dumbaft!!!!**_ ”


	21. Bridge of nose, ROMANTIC. Wheeljack, Ratchet.

Sometimes, Ratchet thought it must have looked a little odd from the outside. That he and Wheeljack were sparkmates. They were complete opposites, and not in the ‘opposites attract’ way either.

They were just… Different.   
But different was good.  
Different suited them just fine.

“Hey Ratch, can you pass me the control rod?” 

“Cadmium or Hafnium?”

“Uhhh… Do- Do I not have any Boron left?”

“Nope. You used the last of that on the pulsar grounding device you tried to make last battle.”

“... The one that exploded _spectacularly_?” Ratchet gives Wheeljack a deadpan ‘what do you think’ look that has the scientist laugh nervously, headfins flashing a deep pink.

“Whoops?” With a soft chuckle, Ratchet leans in and presses a kiss to Wheeljack’s nasal ridge, at the same time sliding the Hafnium control rod into his servos.

“Here~. This one is less likely to get a certain someone blown up.”

“Aww, c’mon, Ratch! There’s no fun with no risks~!” Wheeljack’s optics make little ^ shapes with pure happiness, his headfins flashing that joyous bright blue, and Ratchet rolls his optics even though he’s smiling.

“You could stand to find a few risks that _don’t_ involve bodily harm.” Tilting his helm innocently, Wheeljack tinkers with his little project, adding the hafnium control rod Ratchet had given him.

“You’d have nothing to do if I didn’t take up all your free time.” Ratchet laughs, and Wheeljack holds up a peace sign in victory at the tease. Waiting until Wheeljack isn’t fiddling with something that looks incredibly delicate, Ratchet gently swats the back of his helm.

“You dumbaft~. We could always go for a drive instead. Maybe play some group games in the common room. I might be a dedicated medic, but that doesn’t mean I want to _always_ be in my medbay.” His lipplates fade into a frown, and his servo slides down from the back of Wheeljack’s helm to his lower back.

“And I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Sensing this has turned serious, Wheeljack puts down his tools and turns to face Ratchet, cupping his servos between his own.

“Ratchet, sweetspark… You know I don’t do it on purpose. I’m just a little too curious for my own good~. And I _really_ appreciate how you constantly put me back together. Primus knows no other mech would put up with this much!” Ratchet smiles again, optics a softer, darker blue with affection.

“No other mech loves you like I do.”

“I love you too, no matter how many times you threaten to reformat to a Roomba~.” Ratchet laughs again, but nervously trails off as Wheeljack’s experiment starts giving off little sparks.

“Jackie.”

“Yeah?”

“Is it meant to be…?” Wheeljack whips his helm to where Ratchet’s pointing, and his optics widen as his headfins flash orange.

“Oh slag-”

The explosion is harmless, mostly just soot and heat, but the force of it pushes the two back and they land on the floor, still holding servos. Wheeljack shutters his optics, knowing full well Ratchet is _glaring_ at him through the thick, black smoke.

“Uh- Haha? Well, umm… At least nothing’s on fire this time?”

“You’re _lucky_ I love you.”

“I sure am, Ratch, I sure am~.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short! I only had an hour to write it. ¬`3`¬
> 
> Please kudos and comment!


	22. Top of back, FAMILIAL. Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Me, sliding in 3 months late, absolutely bedraggled*: Life is hell! :D Work is killing me! :D

“Star, it’s Sky! He’s _down_!” The sparkwrenching cry over his comms has Starscream instantly turning in the air, ignoring Megatron’s orders for him to try and advance past the Autobot lines, doing an impressively tight roll to change direction, back where he came from and downwards.

It’s not hard to pinpoint where to go. Dust and smoke rises from a newly-formed crater in the ground, the horrific scent of spilled energon, burnt plating, and jet fuel becoming more apparent on approach. 

Transforming as he lands, Starscream stumbles a little in his panic, trying to find his way through the cloud and to his trinemates. He crashes into someone, thinking it must be Thundercracker _also_ looking for where Skywarp fell, but a quick shutter of the optics reveals white and red paint.

The Autobot medic. He must be here for that pit-spawned golden twin that cause Skywarp to crash in the first place. Narrowing his optics, Starscream speaks.

“You take yours, we take ours.” He knows his voice comes out strained and rushed, but when a keen erupts from nearby that he _knows_ is Thundercracker in severe distress, Starscream couldn’t care less if the medic knows how worried he truly is. Blue optics soften just the slightest, Ratchet realising he’s not about to get null-rayed.

“If you need a medic…” Starscream narrows his optics further, but before he can come up with some kind of quip about how capable he is at repairing his own trinemate, his audios catch onto a Vosnian whimper.

“Star…” Disregarding the Autobot, Starscream flocks to his trinemates side. It takes everything he has not to purge at the visible damage.

Skywarp has, by some amount of luck, been knocked into stasis upon the crash. He’s _covered_ in energon, fuel lines ruptured and plating forcefully bent out of shape or dislodged completely. Worst of all, his _wings_.

His poor, shredded and torn wings…   
They aren’t in any condition to be repaired.  
Maybe, if the struts are okay, he can replace them…

Thundercracker looks up at him as the dust settles, and Starscream can see the desperation in his wide, almost pink optics, fluid building at the rims and threatening to spill over. He sucks in a sharp invent to stop himself falling into the same despair.

Gently, he crouches down, and slides his servos under Skywarp’s fallen, broken frame, ever so carefully nudging him into Thundercracker’s arms as if he were awake to feel the pain. The sheer distress rolling from Thundercracker is enough to make Starscream worry. 

His vocaliser cloys up with emotion.

“I’ll bear your offer in mind, Medic.” Brushing his field comfortingly against Thundercracker’s, he ignites his thrusters, indicating for them to take off. Following blindly - too upset to so anything else - Thundercracker tries his best to keep pace with him.

It’s a slow, steady flight, and Starscream has the sickening feeling that Megatron is going to _slag_ them for the unauthorized retreat.

“Star, he’s-...”

“I know, Thundercracker.”

“We should-”

“We can’t stop. We need to get him to my lab.” Falling into uneasy silence, they pick up the pace. It’s slow-going, since they can’t transform, and have to fly sideways to fully support Skywarp’s broken frame. 

Starscream can’t help glancing over his shoulder every couple of kliks, concerned about Megatron catching up to them.  
He at least wanted to treat the _worst_ of Skywarp’s wounds before having to tend to Megatron’s fragile ego and explosive rage. 

By some grace of goodwill, or an act of Primus, they make it back to the Nemesis without any disturbances. Starscream doesn’t even have to comm in for the tower to launch. It’s already up and the entrance opening for them.

It’s a good stroke of luck that Dirge was on tower duty. He didn’t ask _questions_ like others would, or wait for the obvious command.

“Ngrngh…” The groan echoes in the lift. Starscream and Thundercracker share a wide-optic look, both of them in disbelief and slight horror.

Skywarp should not be awake.  
With wounds like that, Skywarp should be in stasis for _groons_.

“Oh, _Pit._ Fraggin’ pit!!! You _**would**_ be difficult! Only you!” Starscream rants mainly for himself, but also because it distracts Thundercracker from just how bad the situation is.

He’s not stupid. He knows it’s bad.   
But he’s not Starscream either. He hasn’t seen wounds like this. He doesn’t know that these are bordering on fatal.

“Of course he’s being difficult. He wouldn’t be Skywarp if he wasn’t.” Luckily for them, Skywarp stills again, verging on the edge of stasis.

“I’ll go on ahead to open my lab, clear a workspace, and prepare the equipment. Can you take his full weight?”

“Yea, but not like this.” Whilst the lift is still descending, Starscream helps - very carefully - to arrange for Skywarp to be pressed full against Thundercracker’s front, supported by one arm under his aft, and the other looping under a wing to pull him in closer, a gentle servo resting on the back of his helm.

“Got him?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got him.” One of Starscream’s servos lingers on Skywarp’s back, but as soon as the lift doors open, he draws away and starts running towards his lab. As he does, he activates his comms and messages the observation tower.

_::// Watch their backs for me, Dirge. \\\::_

_::// Affirmative, Commander Starscream. If Megatron arrives, I’ll try to direct him to the war room.\\\::_ Starscream sends back a Vosnian low whistle of gratitude, too haughty to say ‘thank you’ in any other language.

(Also to be spiteful against Megatron, since only Seekers and triple changers know Vosnian.)

He punches in the code to his lab, leaving the door open for when Thundercracker arrives. Knowing he doesn’t have much time - and slightly panicking - Starscream ‘clears a space’ by sweeping everything off the table with one large movement of his arm, making sure to grab a sterilized cloth to wipe down any potential spills.

It wouldn’t be efficient to lay his injured trinemate in a patch of partially dried acid.

Starscream takes much more care in arranging the tools and parts he’s going to use, prioritising what he needs to keep Skywarp alive. He’ll do as much as he can himself, though there’s still a nagging voice in the back of his processor telling him they’ll desperately need the Autobot medic’s help.

“Star…” He almost jumps at the soft call from the doorway. Almost.

“Bring him in, Thundercracker.” Whilst Thundercracker does so, Starscream moves to the lab door and locks it with a special code, one that _nobody_ can override. He’d created it himself especially for situations like these.

_::// You have approximately 10 breems before Megatron loses his temper. Lucky for you, he’s sustained blast damage and heading to the medbay before the war room.\\\::_

_::// That’s more than I expected. Great work, Dirge. \\\::_ A Vosnian trill of gratitude leaks through the comms before Starscream shuts it off, slowly ex-venting to bring himself back to focus.

He has a life to save.

Thundercracker has already managed to gently place Skywarp on his back, a blanket shoved underneath him to soak up the leaking energon. He uses a sticky adhesive to attach a bag of highly filtered energon to the wall, and looks to Starscream for confirmation as he holds a needle near a fuel line in Skywarp’s wrist.

“Further up. Normally, yes, but since the strut is completely sheared…” 

“Okay…” In uneasy silence, they work together. Starscream _really_ gets his servos in there, digging deep to fix Skywarp’s internals as best he can. His servos are streaked with a lighter blue than his paint, an acidic leak from Skywarp’s punctured tanks stripping the paint right from Starscream’s frame. 

It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the pink energon staining his arms all the up to his elbows, enough that he has to take his servos out and flick the energon off periodically. The lab floor is flecked with pink droplets.

Much less qualified to be doing anything this intricate - since he hadn’t had the vital ‘space explorer emergency repairs seminar’ Starscream had - Thundercracker focuses mainly on keeping the work area clean, mopping up split energon and passing over tools Starscream requests. He doesn’t even need to know the tools by name, Starscream just points at them and holds a hand out flat to receive it.

There’s nothing but pure _desperation_ in the lab, their fields of distress bouncing off each other and the atmosphere heavy.

It’s just after removing the tattered wings from the damaged struts, that in true Skywarp fashion, things become a little less predictable.

“Urrrgh… What- What hit m-me…?” Starscream freezes. Lipplates curling into a sneer, he pinches a sensor enough to make Skywarp wince, before continuing on a delicate blowtorch operation.

“Skywarp, I swear to _Primus_ , if you do not go back into stasis _immediately_ -!!!” Whilst Starscream rants, his vocaliser dropping to a hiss when Skywarp cringes, Thundercracker moves in close and rests a steady servo on his trinemate’s shoulder - one of the only unharmed parts of him.

“It’s less what hit you, and more you hitting the floor.”

“O-Oh. Huh. Well… Gr- Gravity… Is a… Is a bi-bitch…” Venting an amused huff, Thundercracker gently gives Skywarp’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It’s still terrifying seeing him like this, hearing the agony leaking into his vocaliser, and it’s _concerning_ that he’s online to feel it, but…

“Good to have you back, Sky.” Skywarp manages a tiny smile before he winces again, though he doesn’t complain. Even through his blurred vision, one optic cracked, he can see the extremely serious expression on Starscream’s faceplates.

He hasn’t seen that expression since academy days, when Starscream had first attended the space explorer emergency repairs seminar. All he’d said when he came out of that seminar was _“The teacher shot himself. We had to save him.”_

Skywarp still didn’t think that was a great way to teach, but hey, Starscream was literally keeping him alive right now, so he wasn’t going to complain about some crazy teacher’s method.

“Thanks, ‘S-Screamer…”

“Shut up. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood or I’d leave you to _rust_.” Meeting Thundercracker’s soft gaze, Skywarp rolls his optics playfully. They both know Starscream would never do that to them. He’s their trineleader. He’s one of their three, one of the trine, and their best friend.

Trine was for life, and not even Starscream’s aptitude for treachery could overcome that. They were friends, they were brothers, they were in this together.

“I f-feel okay, if you wa-wanna take a break…” A sharp scalpel is pointed directly at Skywarp’s chin before Thundercracker takes it and replaces it with a nitinol microlattice patch.

“That’s a no. Just rest up, Sky. Star’s taking great care of you.”

“M’kay.” Way too placidly for his trinemates to be comfortable with, Skywarp cycles down his optics and forces himself to relax. The only thing reassuring them that he’s okay is that he never loses consciousness.

His awareness fades and ebbs, but he’s still notably online. 

Sometimes, his digits even curl around Thundercracker’s servo, holding onto him gently but _desperately_. Starscream’s concern and Thundercracker’s fear leak over the trinebond. 

Any other time, Skywarp would tease them for being worrywarts, or soft-sparked. But not now. Not like this.  
Not when he can _feel_ every split fuel line, every torn scrap of metal, every flare of electricity inside him.  
Not when he can feel Starscream bustling around his insides, flitting from one fix to the next just trying to get him out of the critical stage before he can repair anything completely.

What scares Skywarp most though, more than _feeling_ the agony from his frame, is the _lack_ of feeling from sensors on his back. They’d hurt before the crash, where Sunstreaker had torn into them. They hadn’t hurt after the crash, because his sensors weren’t receiving anything.

Were they- Were his wings even _**there**_ anymore?

“My- M’wings…” Starscream freezes for an astrosecond. Thundercracker squeezes his servo a little tighter.

And _Oh Primus_ , Skywarp instantly knows what that means. Before the two can formulate any kind of response, he knows. A whimper escapes his vocaliser. 

“I’m going to replace them, Skywarp. I promise you, once everything else is fixed, I’ll replace them.”

“But…” Gentle digits brush over a cheekplate, Thundercracker leaning over so Skywarp can see his soft smile - as tense and awkward as it may be.

“Shh, you know Star won’t let you down…” Skywarp attempts to smile back, but it turns into a grimace paired with a hiss of pain as Starscream reattaches a sensor. He shoots a glare at his trineleader.

Starscream only smirks back, relieved that Skywarp is strong enough to attempt playfully threatening him. Then, it’s back to being elbows deep in injuries that are, thankfully, spilling less energon. The temporary patches are doing their job until Starscream can get to them with a welding torch and stitching set.

“I know.” The sheer _trust_ in Skywarp’s voice is what makes Starscream’s vents hitch, but he quickly recovers to continue on maintenance.

Thundercracker’s voice quietly rumbles as he talks to Skywarp in low, quiet tones, warm and comforting. Skywarp whispers back, the corners of his lipplates twitching up every now and then. Starscream himself chimes in a couple of time, either poking fun at his trinemates, or requesting one of his tools.

It’s not silent, but it’s peaceful.  
A moment of truce between the eternally squabbling brothers.

“ **STARSCREAM!!!** ” A fist pounds on the door, paired with an explosive roar filled with anger. Starscream, despite jumping at the sudden interruption, simply rolls his optics.

“And there’s the tactless brute. I’m surprised his ‘patience’ lasted this long.” Megatron calls for him again, this time a vicious hiss more than a shout.

“Starscream, I know you’re in there! You fled the battlefield like a _coward_ , and I want **answers**!” Again, Starscream rolls his optics. Thundercracker frowns, leaning in and speaking quietly.

“Do you want me to intervene?”

“And leave me with two trinemates to repair? No, Thundercracker, we’ll let the walking scrapheap exhaust himself first.” Raising an optic ridge, Thundercracker stares dubiously at Starscream.

“... Fine! But not you! _I’ll_ talk to the glitch.” 

“You?”

“Yes, me! Because you’ll let Megatron rant and scream, wasting time! _I’m_ well-practiced in interrupting him and getting to the point.” Thundercracker rolls his optics. Skywarp snickers - though cuts it off with a hiss of pain.

“You’re well-practiced in getting beaten, that’s for sure.” Shooting his trinemate a glare, Starscream clips a couple of clamps into place around Skywarp’s torn fuel lines.

“Replace that medical energon whilst I’m gone.” With that short, sharp order, Starscream slips from the lab. It’s… Not exactly a quiet exit.

_“Are you **quite** finished, you overgrown youngling?! Throwing another one of your tantrums isn’t going to appeal to me, oh mighty Megatron! Just because **I** made a valid decision on the battlefield, one that wasn’t **yours** \- OW!”_

The laboratory door slides closed behind him, and Skywarp hears the lock click and beep as Starscream no doubt seals it off with his special code again. 

“W-Well, he’s ssscrap, isn’t he?” The amused whisper betrays the pain Skywarp feels from having his fuel lines _clamped_ \- not a pleasant experience for anyone - but his comment is enough to make Thundercracker chuckle warmly.

“Yup~.” He pauses for a moment, lipplates curving into a frown.

“You’re kinda scrap too, Sky.”

“Uh, _duh_. I hit the gr- _ **ground**_. Dunno why groundpounders like it so m-much, to be honest. I just don’t see- don’t see the appeal.”

“Don’t try and make me laugh over this, Sky! We- Star ‘n’ I were seriously worried! Pit, we were _scared_.” Skywarp’s optics flashed from a pained pink to a brighter magenta, and he strained to raise his arm, brushing digits over Thundercracker’s shoulder as the blue seeker changed the energon pad strapped to the wall.

“M’sorry… Didn’t mean to crash…”

“... I know.” He gently pushes Skywarp’s arm back down to his side. In silence, they wait for _something_ to come from the corridor - whether it be Starscream in all his smugness, or Megatron in all his fury - letting them know of Skywarp’s fate.

At this point, with all Starscream and Thundercracker have done, he’ll live. But he won’t be able to fly, and a Seeker without flight is a Seeker doomed.

The eerie silence stretches on, and just as Thundercracker is about to reach for the lock mechanism and peek out, the door slides open with a flourish, Starscream stepping in and sweeping an arm as if he’s about to give a grand speech. His trinemates, feeling a burst of pride and victory from him, roll their optics in synchronization without meaning to.

“Kneel before me and sing my praises, glitches! Not _only_ have I - the glorious and amazing Starscream - managed to get us out of trouble, I _**also**_ have permission for us to take advantage of the Autobot medics oh-so- _kind_ offer in a neutral location away from base!”

_‘Pompous jerk’_ , is the first thought the flits through Thundercracker’s mind, and he feels more than sees Skywarp roll his optics so hard that they disconnect for an astrosecond. But, as intolerable as a victorious Starscream is, he _has_ done excellent.

...This time round.

“That’s great, Starscream.” A much more sarcastic ‘thank you, oh great Starscream’ chimes in from Skywarp afterwards, though Starscream ruffles his plating in pride, apparently too caught up in the moment to catch the sarcasm at all.

“Yes, yes, I am fantastic, I know~.” Lowering his arms, Starscream’s grin morphs into a serious frown, lipplates pressed together tightly.

“That said, we need to get Skywarp to a neutral location, close enough to the Autobot Base that I can reach their medic through the channel he pinged me.” Engines rumbling uneasily, Thundercracker rests his chin on his folded servos.

“How do we know he’ll even be free to treat Sky…? He has that pitslagged twin to tend to.” 

“Because even that golden spawn of Unicron probably has the common sense to stay in _stasis_ when so badly wounded.” 

“Common-?! I have plenty of common sense! I jus’ don’t like stasis!”

“You have _no_ common sense. Remember when you warped halfway through the wall because you thought it would get you out of cleaning duty?”

“... Worked until Sounders gave me a mop an’ told me to make the floor shine…”

“I think that proves my point well enough~.” Flashing a fanged grin at Skywarp, Starscream folds his arms in triumph when Skywarp only huffs, puffing out a cheekplate. Thundercracker chuckles warmly, sending a rush of brotherly love over the trinebond.

“Once you’ve finished squabbling like co-creations, we can go. No doubt it’s going to take us a while to get there...”

“Mhm. I couldn’t convince Megatron to spare Astrotrain or Blast Off for a few kliks.”

“... Starscream.” White wings dip quickly before they still, stiff and high. Starscream diverts his optics. He’s the full picture of _suspicious_ , radiating _Innocent/nothing/yes?_ over the trinebond. Thundercracker narrows his optics.

“How _did_ you convince Megatron to let us leave?”

“ItWasNothing!”

“Starscream!”

“Well, not much!”

“ _Starscream!_ ” Sensing Thundercracker’s rising irritation - and concern - Starscream throws up his servos in defeat.

“I’m not allowed in my lab for two earth weeks, I’m not allowed to attempt on Megatron’s life until after our next raid, and I have to hand over my attempt-to-overthrow-Megatron weapon to the Constructicons so they can use it against the Autobots!”

“An’ that’s a bad thing?” Starscream squawks indignantly.

“Of _course_ it’s a bad thing!!! How am I supposed to become the rightful leader of the Decepticons when I can’t even use my nearly complete weapon against the walking slagheap himself?!” Thundercracker barely hides a sigh whilst Skywarp laughs, only breaking off when his vents stutter in pain. He might be in a stable condition after all his brothers work, but it’s still not pretty.

“Prob’ly for the best, right, TC?”

“Mhm.”

“Sorry, did you two _morons_ miss the part where I’m banned from my lab for 2 weeks?!” There’s a small sympathetic silence, before Skywarp grins. It’s an expression that his trinemates know means he’s found a loophole, and Thundercracker fights down the urge to cover his faceplates with a weary servo.

“He didn’t say your equipment had to stay _in_ here, though.” Starscream shutters his optics. Once, twice. Then, he throws his helm back and laughs.

“You have a point! Then, let’s get this ‘meeting’ over with so we can salvage my experiments before sundown.” Gently - because they _have_ to be - Starscream pulls Skywarp upwards to a sitting position whilst Thundercracker supports from behind, careful to avoid the extensive damage to Skywarp’s wing struts.

He can’t stop the pulse across the trinebond, his sparks representative of his visible wince.

“... Is- Is it that bad, TC…?”

“... Star can fix it.”

“But is it **that** _bad_?” Glaring, Starscream just _dares_ Thundercracker to say something. Unfortunately for him, Thundercracker isn’t scared of him.

“Yea. S’that bad. But, I think once the medic has fixed you up to standard, Starscream can fix these struts pretty easy.”

“Of course I can! …It’s just going to be a long recovery time.” Skywarp groans as he’s hoisted to his pedes, supported between his trine. Every movement is _agony_ , but at least he can pretend like it’s in response to Starscream’s comment.

“Does that mean staying still? ‘Cus we all know I ain’t good at that.” The corners of Starscream’s lipplates twitch upwards, even as he takes note of how Skywarp almost collapses as soon as he’s upright. Thundercracker takes most of his weight, simply because Starscream needs to be able to free a servo in case any of the clamps or quick-fixes break in mid-air.

The first few steps are the hardest. Just trying to make it over to the _door_ has Skywarp gritting his denta together, hissing through them at every burst of pain. When the door does open, and the trine slowly steps out into the corridor, they’re quick to realise they aren’t alone.

“Hm. I had _thought_ my treacherous second in command was exaggerating for some sort of plot again, but concerningly, I see he was telling the full truth.”

“Lord Megatron!”

“Wish ‘Screamer was full on _lying_ , to be honest.”

“ _Exaggerating?!?! **Me?!**_ ” Megatron snorts at Starscream’s indignant screech, which lapses into a rant he promptly ignores as he moves away from leaning against the wall, casually approaching and circling the trio to assess the situation.

It was almost a shock when he came to a stop in front of Skywarp, his optics dimmed a slightly darker crimson with _sympathy_.

“You have 5 groons. Soundwave will secure a location so no external comms may reach you.” There’s a pause, and then - as if trying to reinstate his reputation as a cruel, sparkless leader - Megatron adds;

“Be warned, when you return, I expect you in _one_ piece, not multiple. Or there will be… Consequences.” He turns and stalks off down the Nemesis corridor, leaving three stunned seekers in his wake.

“Was- Was Ol’ Buckethead just… _Nice???_ ” 

“Uh… Yea… Don’t think he will be if you call him that to his face though.”

“Fair.”

“Star, you okay there?” Garbled static escapes Starscream’s open mouth, unable to comprehend what he’s just witnessed. He shakes his helm vigorously to clear the gobbledygook in his processor. 

“Shut up and go. We’re being timed.”

“We have 5 groons.”

“That’s _limited time_ , Thundercracker.” Skywarp and Thundercracker share a look, rolling their optics in unison. Their shared amusement leaks over the trinebond, and Starscream shoots them a half-hearted glare before he starts leading the way to the flight tower.

“Brace yourself, ‘Warp. This… Isn’t going to be pleasant.”

“Wow, appreciate the warning, ‘Screamer.”

“ _Don’t call me that!_ ” All the warning in the world could not have prepared Skywarp for the _agonising_ sting and burn of being airbourne in his damaged root mode, supported between his trinemates, moving at a horrifically slow pace.

It’s all they can do.   
Any slower, and they’ll fall from the sky. Any faster, and wind resistance could reopen the welds and solders Starscream has worked so hard to put in place.

They make 4 stops along the way, landing in the desert cautiously, just to let Skywarp vent harshly and choke back sobs of agony. Each time, Starscream tightens the clamps that have come loose during ‘flight’. Each time, Thundercracker carefully changes the energon still attached to Skywarp’s arm.

They’re being _careful_ , and Skywarp can genuinely admit that he’s never loved that one trait of his brothers more than in this moment.

“Thi- This fraggin’ _sucks_.” 

“We’re almost to the neutral zone Soundwave set up. I’ve already contacted the medic. He’ll be meeting us there, with 2 guards.”

“Guards? This is supposed to be _neutral_.” Feeling Thundercracker’s rising agitation, Starscream holds a placid hand out to stop him. Skywarp doesn’t intervene, too busy lying flat over a rock and trying to calm himself down.

“It is. I pre-approved them. As much as I hate the Autobots - though not as much as you - I fear for Skywarp’s safety more. We _need_ that medic to fix what I cannot. Besides…” Starscream pauses, flashing a sharp smirk Thundercracker’s way.

“Do you really think I would have allowed guards we couldn’t defeat with ease?” The tiniest smile flickered at the edges of Thundercracker’s lipplates before he molded it back into his usual hidden, flat expression. Starscream clapped his servos together sharply.

“Last leg of the journey! Get up, Skywarp! We’re going!” A gargantuan groan from Skywarp indicates that he would rather _not_ move again. Not for a few cycles at least.

But Starscream is nothing if not persistent, and he manages to poke, prod and lift Skywarp onto his pedes. His knee joints tremble with effort, and Thundercracker is quick to swoop in on his other side and support most of Skywarp’s weight.

“Easy, Sky. Almost there.” 

“I’ve n-never missed my warp dr-drive more…” That earns him a small huff of amusement, but then it’s back in the air, high enough to avoid circling dust into his open wounds, but low enough that air currents can’t brush against him with enough presence to agitate sensitive sensors.

It’s easy to tell when they’ve reached the neutral zone.  
All of a sudden, several alerts come through of disabled systems - weaponry and outlier abilities.   
There’s also the worrying notification that stasis will be imminent if there’s a surge of electrodes in the emotional processing centre. In other words, if they became aggressive.

Starscream and Thundercracker whip their optics to each other, widened and stunned. It doesn’t take them more than an astrosecond to realise _this_ is what Megatron meant by Soundwave setting up a neutral location.

Neither Autobot nor Decepticon will be able to fight.  
That’s… A wonderful relief.

As much as Starscream had been certain that the guards attending the Autobot medic would be easily defeated by him and Thundercracker, he’d withheld that they were at a _disadvantage_ considering they had Skywarp to protect. This - what Soundwave has done - levels the playing field.

No fight shall take place here.

“Autobots incoming.” At Thundercracker’s tense announcement, Starscream slowly eases them to the ground, lowering Skywarp to his knees. It’s not necessarily clean or sterile, but it’s all they have to work with.

“Pits, this is embarrassing…” 

“Do you want your wings back, or not?” Whining, Skywarp looks up at his trinemates, expression nothing short of pitiful.

“Can’t you just - I don’t know - kiss it better or somethin’ equally gross and mushy without being _Autobot_ mushy?” His grumpiness leaks over the bond with his embarrassment, and maybe it’s that - or maybe just because they’re brothers - Starscream and Thunderscream seems to get the exact same idea at the exact same time. 

And humour him.

Skywarp can’t help but burst into laughter as two short, sweet kisses are placed right on the centre of his wing strut - first Thundercracker, then Starscream.

“I fraggin’ hate you, I didn’t mean it literally!” His laughter ruins any kind of threat he was going for, Thundercracker chuckling warmly, and Starscream snickering. 

The Autobots are still just dust trails approaching from the distance when Starscream nudges his knee against Skywarp’s shoulder, careful of his injuries.

“Did it fix anything~?”

“No!”

“Then never ask me to do anything so demeaning ever again.” Skywarp bursts into stammers and static, trying to form words as Thundercracker laughs heartily and pats his helm in comedic sympathy.

“I never-! I didn’t _ask_ you to! You fraggin’ afthole! You _chose_ to! Pit, you’re so annoying! You’re just!!! Trying to wind me up! _Embarrass_ me!” A soft snicker is all Starscream offers his trinemate before he moves forwards to intervene with the Autobots and greet them in a reluctant gesture.

Kneeling down next to Skywarp, ready to help him lay down however the medic orders, Thundercracker quietly says;

“What did you expect? That’s what brothers do best~.”

“Wish ‘Screamer wasn’t so good at it.” A gentle squeeze to his shoulder.

“You annoy us just as much as he annoys you~.” Skywarp lifts his helm, glaring playfully through his dimly-lit optics.

“I’m gonna scrap you when m’all fixed.” The little smirk that Thundercracker flashes him, glint of a fang, doesn’t reassure Skywarp _at all_.

“Good luck with that. The medic’s heading this way and he looks _pissed_.” Optics wide and feeling like there’s a lump of wet sand in his fuel intake, Skywarp whips his head over to see Ratchet storming over, med-kit in one servo, infamous wrench in other.

“ _ **And why aren’t you in STASIS?!?!**_ ”

“... TC, help.” Thundercracker steps away, shrugging 'helplessly' as he leaves Skywarp to the mercy of the enraged medic. It's for his own good, after all. This is to _save_ him. Save his wings.

“Hm, nah.” 

“TC!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please kudos and comment~!


	23. Inside of knee, ROMANTIC. Starscream, Thundercracker.

At the end of a weary day, shift after shift in a row with very little fuel in his tank, all Thundercracker wanted to was collapse into his berth as soon as he got back to his quarters.

Which is why he was incredibly displeased to see it occupied. Starscream sprawled leisurely across his berth, datapad in hands. Thundercracker narrowed his optics.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“In _my_ room?”

“Yes.”

“... Starscream, get out.” At the impatient tone, Starscream finally looks up from the datapad, optics widened a little with surprise. He’s always been welcomed here before, especially after they started courting. It’s unusual for Thundercracker to snap. It’s incredibly rare that Thundercracker snaps at _him_.

“What?”

“Get out.” Starscream tries to find the words to say, but the more he takes in Thundercracker’s crossed arms, his furrowed optic ridge, and the pinkish strain around the rim of his optics, the more he finds himself not saying anything at all. Taking a deep vent - because he knows nothing good will happen if he gets angry at this rejection - Starscream sits up.

“... I-... Okay. What’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong_ is that you’re still in my room, on my berth, and _I asked you to leave!_ Get! Out!” A servo swings towards the door, gesturing for Starscream to leave, but he stubbornly - and patiently - sits up a little straighter, servos folded in his lap.

He can see just how _strained_ Thundercracker is. How his vents are working harder than usual, how his wings are held low out of self-consciousness, and the very faint trembling in plating that is held far too tight to his body.

“No.”

“Wha-”

“ _No_. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing!!! Nothing is wrong!” Narrowing his optics, Starscream is not oblivious to the way Thundercracker’s expression tightens.

“You’re upset.” Uneasy silence follows his statement. Thundercracker doesn’t speak, but his field wraps in closer, his vents heave a little harder, and his servos clench. Starscream _waits_. 

It only took so much prodding to break through Thundercracker’s defensive quietness, to let him get angry. Truly angry.

“Upset? _Up-fragging-set_?!” A shake of pure fury, like his frame can’t hold all his building emotions, ripples through Thundercracker before he starts pacing, trying to work off this sudden antsy sensation, like he’s on fire and about to burn up.

“That doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it! I haven’t been outside for three fragging days! I’ve been on continuous duty for the entire time, with barely enough time to recharge or refuel, and when I _did_ get half a groon break to _**finally**_ get a full ration in, those _fucking cassettes_ -”

Starscream raises an optical ridge at the human explicative.   
He’ll forgive it just this once, since Thundercracker is obviously boiling over.

“- decided to smack it out of my hands, _all down my front_ , and I didn’t have time to hit the wash racks before my next shift on monitor duty! Soundwave gave me a _damp cloth_ , as if that would help.”

“That explains why you look so… Sticky.” Thundercracker narrows his optics at Starscream, but there’s an exhaustion behind them that betrays just how weary he is. How _worn out_ he is.

Venting a sigh, Starscream stands from the berth and grabs Thundercracker’s wrist. He yanks. It drags Thundercracker out of his furious pacing - which had gradually become almost a frantic jog - and spins him towards the berth.

“Wha-?”

“Shut up. I’m going to be - _urgh_ \- nice, for once.” Stunned into silence, Thundercracker shutters his optics, pretty certain that his faceplates were comically stuck in in an expression of bafflement. Then, softly, he vents a laugh. The fire that had been burning up inside him, consuming him, dies down to a flicker.

“You, nice? Why, Starscream, I never would have anticipated that.” The corners of Starscream’s lipplates twitch into a smirk as he rummages through one of Thundercracker’s cupboards, looking for his cleaning stuff. 

Thundercracker slumps on the berth, wings pressed against the wall with optics dim. He’s tired. He’s drained. It’s been three days of aggravation after aggravation, just building up to the point of _too much_ -

“Thundercracker.” The soft call of his name draws him back. He hadn’t realised his optics were building with fluid, and his fists were clenched tightly, starting to tremble again, until Starscream layed a surprisingly patient servo over his own, kneeled between Thundercracker’s legs and using a polishing cloth to remove the sticky excess of spilt energon.

“I- Sorry.”

“Scrap to that. It sounds to me like you didn’t do anything to deserve this. I’ll… Be having ‘words’ with those pitspawn cassetticons.” Thundercracker vents a huff, turning over his servo so that his palm meets with Starscream’s, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“No need. Soundwave was trapped with me on duty, so he’s probably very aware that I was thinking of punting them across the room.”

“As if _that’s_ going to stop me. Or maybe I’ll put the thought in Skywarp’s helm instead…” As Thundercracker snorts and barks a sharp, short laugh, Starscream grins. Much better. 

“Should I warn you I may have already put the idea in Skywarp’s processor?” 

“... You _didn’t_!”

“I was so angry, I commed him immediately after they knocked my cube out of my servos. Let him know they were trying to one-up his ‘mischief incidents of the week’ record.” Starscream cackles, dropping the cloth for a moment as he plonks his helm against one of Thundercracker’s knees, trying to vent as his laughter only increases the more he thinks of what Skywarp could be planning.

Thundercracker chuckles at the sight of Starscream losing control to laughter, just being _himself_. It’s more often nowadays, now that he’s settling into Earth, and been given more responsibilities as the SiC.

Amazing what a little recognition and appreciation could do.

Red meets red as Starscream turns his optics up to Thundercracker, and there’s a flash of plotting there before Starscream turns his helm inwards and places a small kiss to the inside of Thundercracker’s knee.

White faceplates flush with heat, and Starscream snickers before he shutters his optics and scrunches up his expression.

“... Star?”

“That tasted _awful_.” 

“I’m covered in groons-old spilt energon, what did you expect?” Picking up the cloth once more, Starscream whaps the area he just kissed, digging his digits in to get the remnants of gross, sticky energon _out_ of Thundercracker’s joints. It takes a moment, and he’s fully concentrated, but nods in satisfaction once it’s done.

“Now then, as for the rest of you, you should hits the racks whilst I-...” He trails off, letting his concentrated frown soften into a rare, gentle smile. No wonder Thundercracker had sat so still, even when Starscream picked at the harder-to-clean patches of dried energon.

“You were more exhausted than I thought, huh~?” Slumped against the wall the berth is attached to, Thundercracker recharges. His entire frame leans to one side, but it doesn’t look too uncomfortable. One arm lies across his cockpit, resting on plating that moves in and out with each heavy but quiet vent.

Gently, Starscream eases him down so that he’s lying on his side, helm on a pillow and not at an awkward angle against the wall. He grabs a blanket from the end of the berth, obviously left there in a slump when Thundercracker was rushing through the past three days and nights with little more than naps.

He lays it over Thundercracker neatly, making sure it completely covers his wings. Seekers had to keep their wings warm, and temperature regulation dropped when they were in recharge.

Lastly, Starscream checks his chronometer. Another monitor duty shift for Thundercracker in as little as three hours.

“Well, that just won’t do.” Using his authority as the second in command of the entire army, Starscream swaps it with a later patrol shift that he himself was meant to be doing. It’ll give Thundercracker another seven hours to get some much needed rest. 

The resulting ping in the change of schedule has Thundercracker shift, but as exhausted as he is, he doesn’t wake. Starscream brushes his knuckles against a remarkably soft cheekplate, waiting until he hears the telltale whir of Thundercracker’s systems dropping into a full reboot and defrag cycle - the sign of a very heavy recharge.

“I’ll be back, sweetspark-” The whisper of affection goes unheard, but that suit Starscream just fine. With a smirk dawning on his lips, he leans down and nuzzles the side of Thundercracker’s helm before he makes to leave, pausing in the doorway.

“-Just as soon as I’ve assisted Skywarp in making as chaotic a revenge as possible~.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're enjoying the 29 kisses for 29 days challenge I set myself! :D
> 
> Please Kudos and Comment~!


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